


Tell Me That Your Soul Lies Now

by Detroitbydark



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Masturbation, Morning Wood, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Burn, keldabe kisses, no clonecest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26672398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detroitbydark/pseuds/Detroitbydark
Summary: A surprise acquisition leads to questions in Kyrimorut. Sev, Scorch, and Wal'buir are left to question the meaning of family, loyalty, and love.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Dust settles in a thick layer over the _Duke’s_ matte black hull. Its exit from the outer rim asteroid belt had been… dicey and it would need a new coat of paint in the coming days.

The _Midnight Duke_ was an unassuming Corellian lite class transport, a pre Clone Wars relic retrofitted to meet clan Vau's very particular, discerning tastes. **  
**

Quick, fast, and armed to the teeth it got the job done ferrying Walon Vau’s adopted sons from one bounty to the next. The sons themselves were more than competent to take it from there with efficiency and expertise bred from a jar on Kamino and a lifetime of training by one of the most ruthless Mandalorians to ever exist.

It had a lot of things, typically a dead body in storage wasn’t one of them.

“ _Fek_!”

“Wha-“ Scorch barely misses his brother’s arm as he snaps back a step, exposing the open cargo hatch for inspection with a put-upon indignation only he was capable of. There’s a duffle of ordinance, kit and-

“What is this?” Sev’s growl reverberates through his buyce accusingly. Scorch eyes the curled up figure draped in a thick layer of clothes reminiscent of the mining colony they’d just left. 

“People-cicle.” What the hell did he expect him to say? He hadn’t stored a body away. He was in charge of the bounties. The heads of the two marks had been in the bounty bag which was now very empty and in need of laundering because A. Trandoshan blood stank to malachor and B. Human blood was just messy.

“Maker if I know.”

The sun over Kyrimorut was quickly beginning to sink down into the mountainous waste to their north and with it went the warmth of the late season day. They just needed to finish post mission once-over and they could take the speeders the five kliks from the airfield to the warmth of the _karyai_ and a hot meal.

“Maker,” Sev growls again, “ _Buir_ is not going to be happy about this”

 _Buir_. It still felt wrong to call the Sarge anything but Sarge. Scorch was sure he’d get used to it eventually. Sev had, oddly enough, but Scorch didn’t really question his _vod’s_ rush to accept their former trainer as his father. The sullen commando had always sought Walon Vau’s approval. It was no worse than the vode of Skirata’s clan and their hero worship of their _Kal’buir._

“We’ll dump it off and be done with it,” Scorch offers, “Animals will take care of it and that’ll be- wait.” A quick blink through his HUD menu brings up an advanced heat scan.

Sev toes at the body with his boot. “What am I waiting on?”

“They're still alive. I got a vital readout. It’s not much but-“ The two clones stand shoulder to shoulder staring at the prone sentient.

“I slot ‘em and we pretend we never saw a thing?”

“The old man’s gonna know either way. Not sure what gets us in more trouble.”

At his side, Sev grunts. _Wal’buir knew things_. It was uncanny and downright terrifying. As cadets they’d never been able to get one by the old Mando - not that Sev had ever tried - but Scorch had plenty and had more than a few scars to prove he’d been caught. 

“ _Kriff_.” Sev lets out an uncharacteristic laugh. “Bring it back and Skirata will probably adopt it.”

Scorch can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, “or marry it off.”

“I’m not gonna carry it.” 

The argument that he’d saved both their _shebs_ earlier is about to leave his mouth when a small feminine whine rises from the half frozen sentient. “Well that settles it”

“Marriage,” they both agree in unison.

It’s been a while since he’s been around a woman not already wed or destined to be wed to one of his extended family. Suddenly the idea of carrying the unfamiliar being doesn’t seem so off-putting. 

At least it wasn’t the bounty bag.

———

 _Buir_ was going to let them have it. Sev could handle the dressing down from Kal Skirata but he wasn’t sure he could handle it from Vau. 

His stomach twists in knots. The early signs of panic, the ones he was intimately familiar with - brought about by the only father figure he’d ever known - were beginning to make themselves known. He can feel his heart rate picking up. The thick nerf hide sticks to each finger as his palms begin to sweat in his gloves.

He wouldn’t have been able to get away with slotting the grubby stowaway and dumping the body, of that he is sure, there was no good way to keep it clean. Either the _Duke_ or he were going to be covered in it and the water pumps at the strip had gone out a week before. They’d brought the replacement back but it would take one of Kal’s boys to plumb it up. 

“Ordo’s going to have kittens.” Scorch’s voice rings clear through his comms.

“Yeah, Bes is pregnant with what...” He rattles off the names of the clans ad in his head and begins assigning them to parents. “Number three?”

“Yeah, he’s always got a _kad_ up his _shebs_ when she’s carrying. This is going to royally piss him off.” 

Sev watches as Scorch readjusts the woman in front of him. She’d started shivering after they’d yoinked her from her spot in storage. Still hadn’t woken but It was a good sign. Her body seemed to actively be trying to warm up. They figured they’d help it along and wrapped her snugly in a thermal sheet from the emergency kit. Before Sev had at least been able to see her nose, a set of dark brows and fluttery lashes, nothing too unlike those some of his sister-in-laws had, now it was only the closed lids of her eyes visible. For all intents and purposes she looked like a bantha wrap he’d gotten from a food cart last time they’d been on Coruscant. 

Per the limited data from their HUDs she probably wasn’t in much better shape. She seemed stable, but it wasn’t guaranteed even with the _yaim’s_ medical center and the clan’s skills she’d survive the long haul. They’d spent two days in hyperspace and she spent that time in a minimally heated interior storage compartment. The bloody marks along the hatch’s interior showed that she hadn’t had as comfortable a ride as they had. It was another thing they’d need to clean up but it could wait a day or two.

There were no ration wrappers, no canteens of water in the hold with her. They’d looked. 

Hypothermia was her biggest issue but dehydration wasn’t far behind, and the ease with which Scorch had lifted her left him to believe that malnutrition had been an ongoing issue. The bulk of her was the thick rough clothes the miners had worn. 

“We take her to _Wal’buir_ before Skirata gets his turn. Let _buir_ decide what to do.” The speeders rumble to life as they take off from the small airfield and head in the direction of home.

It takes less time then he remembered to cover the distance from the airstrip to the sprawling compound they called home.

“Look,” Scorch notes merrily, “they left the lights on for us.”

By the time they’re pulling up to the _yaim_ Sev feels his breath coming rapidly. 

“Maybe the old man’s having some _ti’haar_ with the neighbors?” Scorch sounds hopeful as he pulls his _buyce_ off one handed and clips it to his belt. “We get her into medical and then have to explain our _fek_ up. Mij should still be here.” He hopes aloud that the family doctor was still rotating through before heading back to Enceri. 

Mij Gilamar was a good a doctor as any clone commando, null, or trooper could ever hope for. If their guest made it through the next few days she’d do good to thank Mij.

Sev throws his leg over the speeder and grabs for his kit and the bounty bag while his brother jostles the woman into a better hold. The lights shine through the low windows peering into Skirata clan’s _karyai_ and Sev can imagine his _buir_ sitting by the warm fire drinking the potent Mandalorian liquor and busting Kal Skirata’s _gett’se_ about something.

“ _Su cuygar Ad’ike_.”

Or not.

Both men snap to. Instead of “Sir” an acknowledgement of “ _Buir_ ” is barked. If Vau notices the near comical response he doesn’t let on. His golden eyes are narrowed firmly on the package in Scorch’s arms.

Sev isn’t sure he’s ever seen his brother lost for words and Scorch must decide today wasn't going to be the day.

“We brought a present. Heard _Kal’buir_ is trying to settle Mereel down. Think this will work?”

Vau, emotionless stony Vau, stands for a moment before the hint of a sly smile flashes at the corner of his mouth. Sev’s heart jumps. The smile falls away with such quickness that had the man himself not trained him to be the best, Sev would have questioned if it had ever been present to begin with.

“Shall we get our guest set up? Maybe you boys can explain how you managed to bring home a stray while we do?”

Yeah they we’re in trouble. He can hear Scorch gulp through his comms as Vau turns away and heads towards the main entrance of their home.

Growing up with so many brothers, child soldiers who were destined to grow up too soon, Sev had never been privy to concepts like privacy. It shouldn’t irk him that eyes follow them as they enter the _vheh’yaim_ , following their father through the one of the many different spokes off the main _karyai_ toward medical. The low flicker of fire light catches on the rich golden plates of Mij Gilamar’s _beskar’gam_.

Without much more than a tired sigh, the silver haired Mando finishes his drink and rises from his spot near the fire to follow.

Sev finds himself thankful that even amongst the faces like his own, Ordo Skirata’s was not present. He wasn’t in the mood to hear what Kal Skirata’s golden child would have to say. He’d have to hear it eventually but he hoped he could at least grab a shower and hot meal before he had to deal with the Null.

Scorch elbows him in the side and Sev casts him a questioning glance. “In your head again, _vod_?”

“Just worrying about _Ord’ika_.”

“I would be less concerned about Ordo,” Vau remarks casually, “and more about me.”

To their left, Mij Gilamar huffs out a laugh as he motions for Scorch to lay the patient out. “Let’s worry about the _aruetii_ first shall we? Where’d you pick this one up?” the doctor asks as Scorch begins to help him liberate her from the thermal blanket and then layer after layer of thick and dusty fabric. 

“New asteroid mining station in the outer rim, Kappa Black,” Sev offers, “and we didn’t know we even had her on ship.”

It takes gett’se to openly admit that in front of his training Sergeant but Vau says nothing.

Scorch picks up where Sev leaves off as the last layer of outer clothes is tossed aside. Sev had been right. There really wasn’t much to the woman underneath the bulk of gear.

“We picked off the bounties. Cake walk.” The demolitions expert chirps happily but Sev can hear the well hidden undertone of anxiety in his voice. “We got in. We got out. Didn’t stop to sight see.”

Vau looks down his nose, glancing slowly from one to the other and then to the girl being hooked up to tubes and monitors. “It appears you didn’t stop to check your ship over either.”

“We had to leave in a hurry. She’d tucked herself behind gear,” Sev explains, knowing it wouldn’t be good enough, “We-“

A cry rises up from the bed as the woman’s eyes shoot open. He knows panic when he sees it.

“ _Fierfek_!” Mij curses as his recently placed central line is caught along the bed and yanked from her neck. Fluids flow freely, mixing with a steady stream of blood as the doctor grabs for gauze and fights to press it against the puncture. 

“Some _kriffing_ help would be good,” he grunts as he manages to dodge a fist. 

Sev steps in. He manages to grab both wrists in a single movement, pressing them to the bed as her lower body twists and her legs kick out. He tries to judge his own strength, his hands swallow her wrists. 

“Restraints are in the drawer.” He hears Mij but his eyes are focused on the woman under him. “No! The other drawer.”

“Sorry Doc, gotta lot of drawers here.”

Sev ignores his brother as a leg swings wildly his way, its knee connecting with solid _beskar_ along his back. She doesn’t even flinch. Sev positions his body over hers, swinging a leg over her hip and looping his feet over her thighs. She doesn’t stop fighting. 

“Stop!” He snarls down into her face, voice coming out gruff and modulated through his buyce. Stark blue eyes focus in on him as she suddenly goes deathly still. They stand out against the warm tan of her skin, only a shade lighter than his own. Her hair is a tangle of unkempt curls and knots. She looks feral and wild, bears her white teeth like an animal. Sev adjusts his grip as she begins her fight again, thrashing and bucking under him.

“I said stop!” He snarls again, and something changes in her eyes. Fear flashes. Her snarl turns into a frightened “o” of surprise before he feels her muscles begin to go slack underneath him. He glances to his side in time to see his _buir_ remove the hypo from her arm.

Mij grunts. A bead of sweat glistens at his grey temple. “Always prepared, right Walon? I hope you took into account her body mass because I don’t feel like dealing with a heart that doesn’t want to beat.”

Vau smiles, holding up the still half full syringe and flicking it lightly with a well manicured nail. “This isn’t my first time. Now _Sev’ika_ , please climb off our guest and let’s try this again,” the black armored Mando says calmly.

———

“I don’t like it. It’s too convenient.” 

Scorch rolls his eyes behind the mirrored visor of his _buyce_. Ordo Skirata has made himself known shortly after Mij had gotten their little stowaway stabilized. She’d be sleeping off the worst of her hyperspace sickness. If she did decide to wake again they could all be secure in the fact that Scorch himself had tightened down her restraints.

The hot brand Doc found behind her left ear had answered more than a few questions she wouldn’t be able to answer for a while. A slavers mark denoting property of the Mining Guild. Between that and her poor condition, Scorch couldn’t blame her for hopping the first ship off the asteroid belt she could find.

It did make them thieves technically, but he had strong feelings about people being property and it really hadn’t been the first time they’d _creatively acquired_ something. He’d tried to ask Sev his opinion but he didn’t seem much for banter after they’d found the brand. Even _Wal’buir_ had seemed a bit more disgusted than usual.

Then Kal Skirata showed up at the med bay door with his eldest in tow and a few of Omega’s commandos, Niner and Fi, trailing behind.

And now the adults were talking and it was his job to shut up .

“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not at this point,” Mij was saying firmly, “I’m not about to put a sick girl out.” His eyes flash challengingly to the Skirata clan head. “There’s nothing you can do to change my mind about it either, Kal.”

For his part, Kal Skirata has been fairly quiet, standing to Ordo’s side with his arms crossed loosely over his chest and a contemplative look on his face. Every now and then Scorch would catch old _Kal’buir_ trying to sneak a peek at their acquisition. Scorch also noted both he and Sev had placed themselves between the other men and the bed. He could think of a star cruiser worth of smart things to say, but not one could account for the near-defensive position Sev was taking or Scorch’s own flanking of his brother.

“Besany’s pregnant-“

“Oh really?” Scorch can’t help himself. The words just come out because kriff, was Bes never not pregnant? “I wasn’t aware.” 

Sev snorts to his side as does Niner hovering behind the Null. Fi barely manages a suppressed smile as Ordo’s eyes narrow. Scorch rolls his shoulders, loosening the stiff joints up. It was always about Kal’s boys. It was always cowing down to Nulls. It got old fast. Next to him Sev’s neck pops as he rolls it.

“You got an issue, Scorch?”

“And if he does?” Sev’s voice cuts in. 

It had been awhile since there’d been a good family tussle. It might be time to take it outside and fix that.

“Scorch. Sev.” Walon Vau’s crisp, aristocratic voice cuts through the tension and posturing “Stand down. It’s late and I’m tired.”

Kal tips his head to his Null son. “You too _Ord’ika_. Everyone is concerned for the safety of the women and children, but if I know your wife she would no sooner have us dispose of an escaped slave as she would one of your deserter _vode_.”

“We’ve had squads do worse to get here,” Niner adds levelly.

“True, _ad’ika_ ,” Skirata agrees pleasantly, taking a step toward the bed. Sev’s sudden step forward seems to reignite the tension as he blocks Kal’s line of sight. The older man casts an appraising look at the Commando and Scorch feels every muscle in his body coil in anticipation. Kal Skirata could play the good natured _ba’buir_ all he wanted, but below the surface he was anything but. He was as cold blooded as it came before you got his family involved, but once you crossed one of his boys Scorch wasn’t sure there was a star system you could hide in that the old Mando merc wouldn’t find you in.

Scorch wasn’t sure where he and Sev placed in the family tree but he wouldn’t be caught unawares if it was time to find out.

“She’ll be our charge,” Vau says cooly, stepping between the two Delta commandos.

“And if she’s brought trouble with her, what then?”

“We let Sev slot ‘er and Mird will have a nice treat,” Scorch offers as if they were speaking of troublesome roba. The mention of Mird is enough to get a shudder from both Niner and Ordo and a wet sound of agreement from the creature itself as it slinks in between Fi’s legs.

The strill circles around its master’s feet before giving Sev and Scorch a cursory sniff. 

“Walon,” Mij Gilamar’s voice is low with warning.

“Lord Mirdalan is an excellent judge of character.” The golden furred creature leaps to the bed with predatory grace. Scorch watches the strill stare expectantly at the sedated woman before turning twice and curling up on her legs. “See?”

Fi, who’d been quietly observing - for once - speaks up after a moment. “It may just be me, but I’m not sure Mird’s approval is necessarily a good thing.”


	2. Chapter 2

In a muted blur of sepia tones, consciousness pulls at Jessa. It’s a sweet dream her hazy mind tells her, nothing hurts and everything is warm and soft. Maybe she was back on Tillamau in her old room with the window seat and garden view. Maybe any moment her nursemaid Ma’duo would be in to wake her up and send her down for breakfast. She hoped it would be roba bacon and eggs. She can almost smell the fatty meat and taste the rich yolks of the nuna eggs seeping into the fresh bread Ma’duo would make. Maybe just a few more minutes of sleep… but the roba smelled so- **  
**

Jessa breathes more deeply, the dream clearing as an astringent smell tickles her nose. Colors seep into the reality she finds herself in, drab greys, dark blacks, the yellow glow of a lone light, and the bright blues and reds of medical equipment. Her eyes blink open slowly before she slams them shut once again. She wants to pretend she’s back on Tillamau. She wants Ma’duo and her raspy voice fussing goodnaturedly for her to get her spoiled butt out of bed. She wants a life back that no longer exists anywhere but her dreams.

What had she gotten herself into now? Kappa Black was hell, dark and bitterly cold. The smell of mining dust with its acrid tang had permeated every waking second, burning her nose and coating her lungs in thick black mucus she woke in the night hacking up. She was going to die there. From disease or cold or hunger she’d been sure of the fact that death wasn’t far and she would be alone and scared when it happened. There was no loyalty or camaraderie among captives. There was only one person to rely on - yourself. All she’d wanted was to pass into the next life - into the arms of the goddess - anywhere but Kappa Black.

Except now, as she pulled weakly at the restraints binding her wrists, she wasn’t so sure there weren’t worse things in the world. Sometimes the unknown, the monster you didn’t know, was far worse than the one you did. Something tugs at her neck when she moves too quickly, her eyes follow clear plasticine tubing from a bag hung over head to where it disappears out of sight. So she had an IV. That was a good thing she supposed, though she doesn’t like the fact she can’t remember who had placed it or know what was going on. There were plenty of places in the galaxy that would love to have a person who wouldn’t be missed as a test subject for any number of unseemly things. Her heart thuds against her the back of her ribs. That line of thought wouldn’t get her anywhere. Her eyes wander down her body, stopping on the restraints secured around each wrist. She clenches and unclenches her fists experimentally. 

Memories of the icy panic she’d felt in the cargo hatch slither from the back of her mind to the forefront. The way the dark and the cold had pressed in around her. The way it had weighed her lungs down worse then the mining dust ever had. 

Jessa remembers clawing at the hatch, almost savoring the focusing pain of her nails and skin tearing- but now aside from her shredded, jagged nails her fingers looked almost normal. A thick coating gel - bacta by the looks and smell - covers each one like they’d been dipped individually into a pot of the stuff.

Whoever she’d managed to hitch a ride with certainly seemed to want her in one piece if the quiet beep and hum of the medical equipment around her meant anything, but for what end-

“Hello! You’re awake!”

———

“What’s the matter Bard’ika?” Scorch eyes the former Jedi, Bardan Jusik, as he moves through the kitchen to the caf carafe that seemed to never have a bottom. That should have been the first indicator something was amiss. Bardan preferred tea, and Scorch struggled to find a time in his eididic memory that he’d ever seen the man with a mug of caf in hand. 

And then he drank it black. 

While not uncommon for the majority of the Commandos and Nulls that made up Kyrimorut’s small population, Bardan had grown a sweet tooth when he’d received his _beskar’gam_ \- one to rival any of Kamino’s finest. Parja’s style of caf was thick, black, and stronger than some of the stims Scorch had taken in his lifetime.

“Whoa, easy on the speeder fuel _vod_. You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

Sev looks up from his bowl of oats just long enough to huff a laugh. “Yeah, what he said.”

Bardan’s eyes narrow as he takes a long pull. He can’t pull it off and his face twists into a grimace after swallowing. 

“Sugar?” he asks and Scorch takes pity in him before sliding the small canister across the table. 

“Really though. Bantha got your skivvies in a twist?” Sev’s voice is a low rumble as he takes another bite, chewing slowly.

“You two are the issue here. You know that right? That delightful little creature you’ve brought in is going to drive me to drink.”

“You’re in luck then.” Scorch offers a grin. “Pretty sure your _buir_ and ours finished off the last of Rav’s _ti’haar_ the other day and she’s not due here for another week. Your dear liver is safe.”

Bardan rolls his eyes.

“Besides, what’s wrong with sleeping beauty?”

“You mean besides the fact that every time she’s woken in the last two days she’s tried to attack the first person she sees?”

“Yeah. So?”

The look the former Jedi levels is unamused as he rolls his sleeve up and points to a bruise on his forearm. Two perfect crescent shaped rows of teeth marks are easily distinguishable. “I’m the first person she sees.”

Sev pokes his spoon in Bardan’s direction, waving the end in tight circles. “Just do your little mind magic _osik_.”

“Normally I’d say it didn’t work like that but, honestly, I’ve pumped enough tranqs in her over the last two days to put a mynock down. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.” 

Scorch watches as one, two, three hefty spoonfuls of sugar are heaped into the mug. Bardan takes a sip and then adds another splash of caf before settling in across from the pair of Delta Commandos.

“People have to be willing to listen to you for suggestions to work. Her mind is like wading through a bag of wet tookas.”

“That’s an image,” Sev murmurs.

“That’s a headache, _vod_. I thought you were supposed to be watching over her.”

“Sev’ika likes to watch her sleep.” Scorch shrugs. He can feel his podmates eyes burning a hole into his brain. “But I’m a lot better at making things go boom then I am at doctoring.”

“I prefer to make things go squish,” Sev adds, turning his attention back to Bardan.

“He is very good at the squishing” Scorch agrees helpfully. Still Bardan does not look amused, “Listen Bard’ika, it’s nearly lunchtime. How about I go and see if I can get her to eat something. I’ve got a way with the ladies.”

“Mereel has a way with the ladies,” Sev points out.

Scorch grasps at the beskar covering his chest. “My heart, _vod_! You wound me! I bet I get her to eat.”

“And if you do, what are we wagering?” Bardan asks, looking between the two and setting his mug down.

“Next time we slaughter roba you take my spot.”

Bardan pulls a face. 

“All you had to do was ask and I’d do it,” Sev offers.

Bardan bobbles his mug as he takes a drink. He takes a second to wipe at the caf that’s escapes and dribbled down his chin. His head shakes in disbelief.

“You’re a sick _chakaar,_ Sev.”

Sev shrugs and Scorch stands to put a bet-winning plate of grub together.

——-

“So slavery, amiright? Kind of a bitch isn’t it?”

Jess’ eyes narrow at the man standing in the doorframe. Not for the first time does she try to pull at the bindings at her wrists. The other one had just left, the one who spoke in quiet tones and had fussed when she’d jerked and pulled at her bindings when he’d come near. The one that stared at her and told her what to do like he had the power to make her fear slip away with a few careful words.

This one, armored from head to toe in gunmetal grey with golden yellow splashes of color neatly detailed along his arms and legs, looked as if he were ready to go into battle at a moment’s notice. He doesn’t acknowledge the way she twists her hands or the monitor tracking her heart rate as it slowly ramps up.

Wary isn’t the word for what she’s feeling as the heavily armored commando moves into the room. He sets a plate of food on the small tray near her bed before sliding into the chair nearest her with a small groan of discomfort. 

“Kind of an old pro myself. I think they gave us better toys though. Names Scorch. You got one?”

Yellow paint job. Flames. Fire. Scorch. She associates his appearance to words to his name quickly like her tutors had taught her. A way she was to remember the names and faces of dignitaries her future husband would have expected her to entertain, now used to keep her alive.

“You must be hungry. You’ve been in and out for a couple days.” Scorch speaks to her as if they are old friends. _Days_? She didn’t remember days. She didn’t remember… well she remembered the chaos on Kappa Black. An explosion and the restraining collar falling away from her neck. The quiet pop, pop, pop of guards’ heads as they burst into pink mist. Someone screaming. She remembered running. She remembers the black freighter and just wanting to be anywhere but there no matter the cost and now…

Jessa keeps her lip pressed firmly together while her eyes peruse the tray of unfamiliar food. It smelled delightful. She ignores the gnawing feeling in her stomach. There’s jogan fruit cut into small pieces, its juices staining the plate violet. The distinctively sweet scent of it mixes with the still steaming bowl of porridge. On top someone’s drizzled syrup and sprinkled spices and nuts. She takes a deep breath. Her mouth waters. 

She hasn’t seen food like this in over a year. She’d been lucky to get the ration packs the mining guild provided and even those had been meager.

It puts her on alert immediately. She sniffs once, feigns disinterest and refocuses, pulling at the restraints on her wrists. She just needed to get them a little looser -

“You know, if you keep on like that you’re gonna cause sores.” 

Jessa’s attention travels back to the man - Scorch - who watches her, head cocked with interest through the dark T-shaped transparisteel of his visor. After a moment he sighs and reaches his hands up to his helmet. The faint hiss of air signals the breaking of whatever seal had helped hold it in place. He is instantly less intimidating as his thick curls stick out at odd angles. He uses a hand to rake everything down into some semblance of conformity. 

He offers a gentle smile, like one you’d give to a feral animal you were trying to befriend. His fingers graze against her wrist and she jerks suddenly, and the pain that shoots up her arm from the tips of her fingers up to her shoulders is jarring.

“ _Udesii._ ” His voice is firm as he holds his hands up. “You’re real twitchy, you know that?”

She’d never been accused of being _twitchy_ in her old life, sweet and air-headed maybe, but never twitchy. 

_Stupid_ , she thought, _I was so stupid_. Secondhand embarrassment for the person she was fills her chest uncomfortably. 

Scorch makes a show of resting his hands over the crown of the helmet in his lap as he sighs dramatically. 

“Ok, so here’s the deal. You don’t have to talk to me. I get it. Really. But I bet that last _di’kut_ that came in here you’d eat for me and - you know - not try to bite me. I’d really appreciate it if you’d help me out.”

Jessa is impassive. Scorch takes deep breath, brown eyes rolling up and concentrating on a spot on the ceiling before refocusing on her.

“The other option is Doc Mij comes back and they stick a tube up through your nose and down into your stomach because your skin and bones and you need calories. That doesn’t sound fun. Plus, you don’t get to taste my excellent cooking.”

Where the hell had she landed? Why were they doing this? What was the end game? More questions fly through her head as she stares at the man in front of her. No answers make themselves known. She follows his eyes as they fall on the food and then slide back to hers.

Her stomach doesn’t simply growl, it snarls its displeasure at being so close and not being allowed any.

Scorch laughs. It’s a deep rich light sound that fills the quiet room. His eyes crinkle at the corner as he smiles, “Come on now _Mesh’la_. Just one bite for your old buddy Scorchy?”

Jessa glances from her restraints and back to her captor, raising a brow in question.

“No can do, darling. You’ve been deemed dangerous -“

Her derisive snort earns her a chuckle.

“Prove you can be a good girl and I’ll talk to the jailers, ok?” He offers her a grin as he scoots his chair closer, plucking the spoon from the bowl and scooping some porridge up.

“Alright now, open the hangar door”

——-

It’s an awkward thing feeding another sentient. Scorch has done a lot of things in his short life. He’s blown more ordnance over more worlds than anyone he knows. He’s played a key role in the rise and fall of more than a few planetary governments. Nothing to this point has prepared him for shoving food into the face of a semi-willing woman.

It’s amusing really. The learning curve is far steeper than he had anticipated. For someone so in tune with the finer points of handling explosive ordnance, he’s _osik_ for figuring out how far in a mouth a spoon is supposed to go.

She glares daggers when some dribbles down her chin on his first attempt. The look only gets more scathing when he uses his thumb to wipe it off and clean the digit off on the sheets. 

He nearly chokes her with the second bite, pushing the wooden spoon too far back in her mouth. She gags and begins coughing. By the time she’s finished, the grey and yellow beskar plating of his armor is peppered with porridge. His grossed-out expression earns him a smile that she quickly bites back. It’s a flicker at the corner of her mouth that makes Scorch feel like he’s finally getting somewhere, but it’s gone as soon as it’s come and he feels like he’s barely gotten past the starting line.

A turn of her head and hot cereal smeared along her cheek lets him know that she’s getting full. Mij had warned it would be slow going before he’d left the day before. Scorch got it. He’d had enough flash training on Kamino to know you didn’t ply an emaciated individual with tons of food. Neither their stomachs nor their digestive systems in general were used to it and you were likely to do more harm than good. Still, she was painfully thin and he wanted to push just a little harder. Her cheeks were so hollow he was pretty sure he could sharpen a blade on the bones there and her collar bones stood out painfully under the thin tunic they’d dressed her in. 

So switching vectors, Scorch sets his sight on trying to get just a little more into her. The IVs Mij set up we’re helping with the fluid balance and electrolytes but the real honest to Fett food was always the best bet. 

He’d apologize to Laseema later for liberating the last jogan fruit. Atin’s wife was sweet though, and he didn’t think she’d mind giving up the last bit of fresh fruit she’d have until the next supply run for a good cause. Laseema, Parja and Besany had all shown an interest in the new captive and been peeved when Ordo and Kal had forbidden any of them from going near her. Ordo, the _shabuir_ , was convinced she’d be the death of them all. Like the Empire was sending scrawny waifs out on secret missions to take down Nulls and Commandos.

“A few more bites.” 

She sighs irritably but nods. He likes it when she looks at him. Her hazy blue eyes are filled with more emotions than he can pull apart in just the few seconds at a time she offers them. 

Scorch offers a piece of fruit between two fingers. She glances down at the sweet purple fruit and then up nervously before she opens her mouth for him. 

It is sick, it really _fekking_ is, but he feels a distinct jolt of pleasure as he places the cool fruit on her tongue. The graze of her lip over his thumb as he pulls back makes him feel hot under the collar. She makes a soft sound of enjoyment as she chews. He repeats the process until they’ve made a dent in the diced fruit on the plate. Finally she shakes her head again. It’s a solid enough step that he doesn’t push for more.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it? You know if you told me your name we could probably be friends,” he offers as he takes his own portion of the jogan. He chews thoughtfully as she watches him. She purses her lips, worrying the top one distractedly with her teeth. Almost there, so close to speaking he can feel it.

And then nothing. She leans back against her pillows and looks anywhere but at him.

Scorch finishes the fruit. If you gave someone enough rope they’d hang themselves. He figures given enough time she’d eventually have to speak to him.

The hiss of the door puts a halt to any more progress he’d make today. Over his shoulder Scorch sees the familiar black beskar adorned frame of his _buir_. Mird circles his feet slowly.

“Does our guest speak?” Walon asks curiously after a moment.

“Not yet. I’ll get her to soon enough though.”

It takes half a second to realize his faux pas. Of course she wasn’t familiar with his family or his sense of humor. In his own head he replays the words and knows how it sounded. 

“Aw come on…” he grumbles to himself as she rolls as much as the restraints allow to her side. 

“Come, _ad’ika_. Let her have her sleep. She’s not going anywhere. We’ll try again later.” 

———

“No shame in failure.” 

“Who are you and what have you done with Sarge?” Scorch looks across the small table at his adopted father. Walon Vau’s lips curl into a sardonic grin. His boys could best be described as stoic and sassy. In his own way he adored each of them.

“I thought you might like it if I took a page from Skirata’s book.” He clears his throat dramatically “You did the best you could.”

“Doesn’t that taste bad in your mouth? Please _Buir,_ enough.”

Vau lets out a quiet laugh. “Your tactics were valid, Scorch. You worked to build a rapport. You followed your adversary’s clues and lead them when they needed it. _Advanced interrogation_ in this situation is inappropriate. Besides, I rather like the way Bard’ika cringes when she snaps at him. It would be a shame to remove any of those pretty teeth.”

Scorch nods quietly taking a sip of his _kri’gee_. The bitterness of the ale usually turned him off to drink, Vau notes, but tonight he was eagerly taking it down.

“ _Ne’tra gal_ on the next grocery list?”

Scorch huffs. “Stars I hope so, this stuff is vile.” Silence falls over the pair as they drink. The quiet is companionable. Vau much preferred time away from the greater, far louder, Skirata clan with just his boys for company. He discovered it was unexpectedly nice. Mird rises from its spot by the fire, stretching its long back and glancing at its master.

Sev glances silently from the fire to the strill. He was still wary. Months after they’d found him in the Transdoshan slavers’ camp on Kasshyk, he still held whatever wildness that had kept him alive for well over a year. Vau ignores the pull at his black heart for the man he’d raised. His sorrow over Delta Squad; Sev the son returned, Boss and Fixer the ones that never would, did no one any good.

Scorch, always more observant than he let on, clears his throat.

“ _Buir_? I think I’m ready for that _cu'bikad_ rematch.”

“Do you now? Well then, let’s see if you’ve learned from your mistakes.”

When Scorch smiles, Vau can see the hint of the boy the Fett clone was never allowed to be peeking through; an eager innocence there one second and gone the next before he morphs back into the deadly Mandalorian Vau himself had trained.

“Yes, _Buir_!”


	3. Chapter 3

From a young age they’d been conditioned to function in the worst situations imaginable, first by the Kaminoans and then by their individual trainers. Delta squad had been assigned to Walon Vau and Sev credited the man with saving his life time and time again. 

Vau challenged his cadets' bodies and minds, pushing them to the point of no return and then just a little bit farther to prove to them that they still had more left to give. Boss and Fixer had begrudgingly accepted it. Scorch cast occasional wistful looks toward Sargeant Skirata’s trainees but Sev, screw loose Sev, had bought into it. He’d pushed himself to prove to Vau that he was the best. He was worth the trouble the sadistic Mandalorian went through. He had value.

Sev doesn’t talk about Kasshyk. Not to Scorch, the only pod brother he continued to recognize. Not to Wal’Buir, the closest thing to a father he’d ever had. Certainly not to any of Skirata’s mongrels and Nulls. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about it. 

In the safety of the room he shared with Scorch, he still woke from nightmares that put him firmly back into the wilds of the Wookiee planet. He could smell the decomp lingering in his nose, the leaves and underbrush rotting in thick layers all around him. He could hear the howls and screams of the night creatures that stalked and hunted him for the first six months of his stay. Had he been one of Rav Bralor’s, even one of Skirata’s, he never would have made it. He’d have given in and let death take him in the shadowlands.

“You good _ner vod_?” 

Of course, even as quiet as Sev had been tonight, he’d still woken his brother.

“Go back to sleep,” the sniper grumbles, swinging his legs out of bed. Thankfully Scorch listens and doesn’t push. A deep sigh sounds from his bed as he lays his head back down.

For the first few months after he and Vau found him it had been…. _rough_ reacclimating. Scorch hovered like a nanny droid over his every move. If he coughed wrong, Scorch wanted to call Gilamar. If he woke with a nightmare Scorch thought he should talk about it. If he wasn’t hungry the other commando fretted about his recovery. In any other situation, seeing the typically easy going _vod_ so focused on his well being would be funny. Unfortunately for Scorch, where the others were amused Sev himself was not.

Sev shakes the residual sleep from his head. It was nice not to remember whatever dream had woken him, but it also left him with a vague feeling of dread that sat uncomfortably in his chest, like whatever nightmare scenario his mind wanted to play out would be there for him the second he closed his eyes again.

When that happened it was best to avoid going back to sleep. He doesn’t stop for a shirt as he slowly pads from the room. Scorch’s soft inhale and exhale follow him. At least one of them could get a night's rest.

The cool duracrete feels good under his bare feet. It’s half past o’stupid hundred hours and all is quiet as he navigates the warren of hallways. While the main _karyai_ existed adjacent to the main entrance of the _vheh’yaim_ , the Vau clan had their own much smaller one that the three bedrooms sprouted off from as well as a shared bathroom between the two smaller rooms. Sev would give it to Kal Skirata, the surly old merc had thought everything out when he’d had the stronghold built.

The good thing about living in a home full of soldiering perfection was that people understood what nightmares did to you. His _vode_ knew what his footsteps sounded like, knew he didn’t like company when he was up so early, and didn’t bother to poke their heads out of their doors if they heard him.

He’s been doing this since the night they’d arrived home, waking up in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun had even questioned beginning to rise to go and check on their stowaway. Scorch was right. Sev liked to watch her sleep. He didn’t like to look further into why and had accepted that watching her calmed him.

Her breath came out in soft puffs, slow and steady. Sometimes she’d have bad dreams of her own and the small distressed sounds of a wounded animal would sweep over her lips. It never lasted long, never woke her up and then she’d be back to her rest.

She’s not asleep tonight.

Like him, she’s wide awake. Earlier in the day Bardan had removed her central line leaving her with one fewer tether and a bacta patch where the line had once been. Scorch had sat by her side and plied her into good behavior with bites of uj cake to allow the former Jedi to remove the offending item. She glared and flinched in between careful bites while the demolitions expert had joked and Bard’ika had cast curious looks. Two days now his brother had been taking his meals with her and feeding her like a princess. A grumpy mute princess. Sev wouldn’t admit to jealousy. It didn’t mean he was happy having his _vod_ distracted from their usual routine.

Scorch had shrugged and grinned when Sev had said as much. It was actually impressive to see the level of patience his pod brother exhibited. Scorch had always been a man in search of instant results. You set a charge, your pressed the button, things went boom. Instant gratification. 

Scorch’s new found patience wasn’t catching. The _kad_ up Ordo’s _shebs_ must have really been bugging him because he’d come to Walon wanting answers on his plan of action moving forward. Sev had to give it to the old _chakaar_. Nothing ruffled his feathers, not even an agitated Null. Wal’buir had been firm. She was a ‘guest’ of the Vau clan and by that stroke, under his protection. He would do what was necessary to make sure Kyrimorut and the _Aliit_ remained safe but he’d do it his way. 

For a second both Sev and Scorch had been ready for the matter to escalate - no one was going to lay a hand on Vau while either of them were still sucking air - but Ordo backed down and things eased back into the slightly tense new normal the girl’s arrival had created.

Besides, Sarge had all sorts of creative means of intelligence gathering should she remain silent. It was his speciality after all and Sev wasn’t opposed to watching his Sargeant work.

“Evening, Princess.” Sev makes his presence known from where he leans against the door frame.

Her red-rimmed eyes snap to his. He can’t help but quietly bemoan her poor situational awareness. 

She sniffles pitifully and Sev focuses on her as he moves closer to her bed. A single tear is trailing down her face. He follows it as it slides down into the hollow of her cheek, hitting her chin and clinging desperately for a beat before dropping to her tunic.

She’d been crying.

_Huh_.

Sev knows he has the emotional depth equivalent to one of those fancy fountains he’d seen in Coruscant but it doesn’t stop him from pausing. Maybe he was going soft.

“You got something you want to say?”

She blinks twice and the commando can feel irritation creeping up the back of his neck. He moves closer, tempting fate and sitting at the foot of her bed. Her legs get pulled up tight to her body. She either didn’t want him touching her or she was trying to give him more room. Either way he wasn’t going to complain.

“Nightmare,” he says after a minute, and he’s not sure if he’s explaining why he was up or asking why she was. Again, he’s met with a blank stare.

“You do realize if we were going kill you we wouldn’t have wasted all this time on you, right?”

A quiet whimper. _Har’chaak_.

“Stop. Ok? You’re fine and safe and all that.” _Smooth, Commando_ …

Her jaw clenches and her lips thin. As her vision narrows in on him. Ok, so mad was better than crying, right? 

——-

“You know you stink.”

The silence between them had spread while Jessa tried to get her emotions in check. She was unbalanced, she was tired, she was scared. The man sitting at her feet didn’t help calm any of those feelings.

She’d seen this one before of course, the shadow to Scorch’s bright personality, hovering at the periphery in matching grey armor with bright red painted in place of the other’s golden yellow hue. When Scorch was near, his shadow wasn’t too far off. To finally see him without the armor - without the helmet - shouldn’t have shocked her as much as it did. Of course she’d heard of clones. She hadn’t been that sheltered. To see them though was something else. Perfect copies of one another- on the surface at least. Scorch maintained a playful, sarcastic sense of humor along with his head of thick and distracting dark curls.

Here was the other now, as solid and intimidating as the other even without his armor - maybe even more so because of it. From his strong shoulders down through his tapered trunk, layers on layers of scars big and small colored his richly tanned skin. The pale crisscrossing marks low on his abdomen stood out starkly, fresher and newer than the others. He’d seen his share of action and he wore each mark like a military honor. His hair was long across the top, twisting at the ends much like Scorch’s while he kept the sides tight and short.

“You stink.” The words come out in a deep rasp. Jessa plays the words over in her head twice before they finally click.

He doesn’t seem affected by her glare. 

“You need a shower.”

He doesn’t move slowly to allow her to telegraph his intentions like Scorch or the man with the needles. She jerks as he leans over and grabs the ties to the restraint at her left wrist. Like a fool she tries to jerk away but there is no going anywhere. He pulls at a loose tail and pops a durasteel clip. The wrap securing her wrist falls away. He does the same to her right wrist, sitting up as she pulls both into her chest and rubs at the irritated skin.

“You stink like the back end of a bantha.” He repeats his earlier statement, enunciating each word clearly. “You’re getting a shower.” He stands. “Get a move on, I don’t have all night.”

A wall of nerves that she’s been holding back since she saw his shadow in the door crashes down. Jessa wraps her arms tight around her knees. Her eyes track him as he stands and moves to the edge of the room. His shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh as he turns slowly.

“Come on, Princess,” he orders and Jessa shakes her head. His dark eyes narrow. “You’re scared of me.” 

Finally, he seemed to understand. He was massive in comparison to her, with muscle piled upon muscle. He didn’t smile or speak gently like Scorch did. He didn’t offer up easy grins and gossip even if she wasn’t sure who Mereel and Prudii were. He was a whole new beast she knew nothing about.

Sev grumbles something she can’t quite hear as he moves back toward the bed. She doesn’t try to hide the flinch as he gets closer. 

He drops down to one knee and makes a show of slowly pulling up one leg of his sleep pants. A sleek black leather sheath sits above his ankle. Her eyes are laser focused as his fingers wrap around the hilt of the weapon there. A blade. He had a blade and he was taking it out and…. She was going to be murdered right here -

“Stop already -“ It’s an annoyed snarl “ _Fekking hells_ , I can see you thinking.”

Jessa tries to will her pounding heart to stop trying to beat its way through her chest, she tries to hide the adrenaline- induced jitters as dark eyes bore into her.

“I’m Sev,” he rumbles quietly, “here.” He flips the knife around in his hand with a practiced ease, catching the blade between the tips of his fingers. He offers the hilt up to her from his lowered position. She doesn’t understand. Why was he - why was he giving her the only weapon he seemed to have on him?

Sev grunts and shakes the hilt toward her again. “Haven’t got all night. Take the _karking_ thing. You feel like I’m a threat, then use it.”

Her hand trembles no matter how much she mentally screams at it to stop as she wraps her fingers around the body-warmed composite handle. Sev rises back to his full height and tips his head toward the door. 

“Can we get this done now?”

———

She’d become used to sonic showers over the last year. The Mining Guild had allotted its labor twice-weekly use of the Sonics - three times if a parasite outbreak reared its ugly head. Jessa had never felt truly clean after one. Now though, it’s been more days then she knew since she’d last had one and she was finding, underneath her apprehension of Sev, she was relieved to have the option to feel clean again.

She follows a few paces behind him, her legs feeling spindly and weak like a new born fathier. She stays close to the wall, shoulder gently brushing it for support. Her hand stays tightly wrapped around the handle of her borrowed blade. 

A wave of dizziness washes over her and she leans hard into the wall. It feels cool against her suddenly burning skin. She closes her eyes, hears the clone curse lowly. It feels like falling in slow motion and then there is hot skin against her own. One hand spreads between her shoulder blades as the other arm wraps around her waist.

Jessa hears a low hiss of pain as she opens her eyes and realizes she’s brought the blade up and is pressing it right against the clone's throat. A thin bead of blood runs down from beneath the glistening metal.

“You’ve got to press harder if you want to do some damage.” 

Jessa can hear the ragged pumping of her heart pounding like a drum in her head as she focuses in on Sev. He’s wrapped around her so close. Too close. Her hand shakes as he looks down his nose at her. He eyes follow the tiny crimson bead with horror and fascination.

“Come on, Princess. Do it. If it needs to be done, slot me.” He prods “Press and pull. Open me up nice and wide. Let’s get messy.”

Nausea claws at her insides, her mouth filling with saliva as he goads her. 

“Don’t waste my time.” His voice is a low growl and Jessa jerks in his grip, the knife falling to the floor with a clatter as she pants, quietly sucking in lungfuls of air.

“Test passed.” She hears the quiet words as his arms loosen and she turns away, sinking to the ground and vomiting across the tiled floor of the bathroom. The sound of spraying water fills the room and she coughs weakly. Her mouth tastes like bile.

She could have killed him, but that’s not the thing that turns her stomach. Something in the recesses of her mind had wanted her to do it. To take control and spill his blood all over the pristine tile.

“Come on.” 

Jessa looks up to Sev’s outstretched hand. Something is different. Something in his eyes has softened and she doesn’t understand.

But she reaches out and allows his hand to wrap around her forearm and pull her up. 

Steam is filling the open room. It’s not too different from the fresher on Kappa Black- just with blessed water instead of Sonics. A series of shower heads lines the walls. No stalls. A locker room with a row of benches that sit on the opposite side of the room. Jessa sees where he’s stacked a pile of towels. Towels. She’d nearly forgotten they existed. One of the conveniences sonics offered was not needing them. 

When she was a child Ma’duo would warm her towels up before she’d help Jessa out of the bath. She’d spritz them with pretty smelling oils and than hold the sleepy little girl in her lap and gently dry her hair with them-

Jessa shakes her head and turns back to a passive looking Sev. He tips his dark head toward the shower and she nods in kind.

———

He hadn’t originally planned for any of this. That was his mistake. It had just fallen into place and he’d gone with it. 

She really had stunk, like sweet sticky sweat that reminded him of fear and the Shadowlands. He couldn’t tolerate it so she needed to get clean. 

His knife had been a way to try to get her to relax. She didn’t need to know he could think of half a dozen ways to kill her without it and that he’d been rattling each off in his head when he’d seen her start to go down. 

Honestly, it had been a pleasant surprise, her response to his sudden presence. She had some self preservation instincts in there somewhere that had allowed her to react without thought. So what if he’d decided that it was a perfect time to see how dangerous she actually was to anyone. He was tired of having to hover around the infirmary watching Scorch fawn over her. He’d much rather he do that in the comfort of their _karyai_ away from the tubes and needles. So he’d pushed her. He’d played dirty and challenged her to see what she’d do. He saw a flash, just for a second, that his reptilian hind brain recognized as a kindred spirit, A survivor who would do what it took to live, but it was gone as soon as it came and she was puking up her guts and undigested uj on the fresher floor. Now, if he was asked he could report that she didn’t have it in her to be of any real danger. She had no follow-through.

Even with all the positives to report, he felt a gnawing in his belly. A bad feeling. Like guilt. He watches her stick her bare foot under the hot spray. She doesn’t turn to look at him as she pulls the overly large tunic over her head and tosses it to the floor.

He remembers the slavers camp on Kasshyk and how modesty hadn’t been a concern, how humanity hadn’t been a concern. He hadn’t thought much of it; coming from Kamino privacy hadn’t existed either, but when a new arrival came they always fought it, had been embarrassed or nervous when they’d been allowed their short time to bathe in the frigid water provided. 

She steps face first into the water, opens her mouth to rinse and spit the residual of sick out. She’s so _fekking_ thin. He could count her vertebrae without much effort. She looked so frail. So weak and helpless. 

She flips her hair gently and he sees the brand. He sees more scars littered around her neck, marks from a restraining collar whose voltage had been set too high.

The gnawing in his belly turns to something else, something dark and angry. He’d watched her in the hall, seen the signs of weakness as they’d happened. Now he knows. When he catches the buckle of her knees he’s moving without a thought. She stiffens as his hands steady at her hips pulling her back toward him. His pants are soaked but he doesn’t notice.

“Easy.” He tries- he really tries- to soften his voice. “You clean up and I’ll spot you.”

Scorch had done the same thing for him countless times after he and Wal’buir had brought him home, back when Sev had been too weak to stand for more then a few minutes, when he could barely lift his arms to wash his own face. Scorch had his six. Now it was time to pass along the favor.

She doesn’t acknowledge he’s said anything, but when she reaches for the soap he knows she understands. The water runs dingy brown off her skin as she systemically lathers and rinses her body. Sev grunts and holds a hand out. She places the soap in the hands and he carefully washes her back. 

“Turn around and let’s get your hair,” he encourages. He realizes it’s a bad idea when her breasts are pressed against his chest but all the fight has seemed to drain from her and he reminds himself he can create a much better fantasy then this during later maintenance with what he’s seen.

It’s slow work, easing her in and out of the spray, working shampoo slowly through the tangled locks and then rinsing it clean, but he’s content to do it. She smells clean and fresh like the simple soap the clones preferred. He wonders idly as he holds the water back from her eyes if maybe they should ask some of the wives if they had something more feminine they could spare for her.

By the time he cuts the water off she’s blinking slowly and swaying on her feet. He wraps her in a towel and slowly uses another to get the worst of the moisture from her hair. Sev doesn’t wait to see if she’s got enough energy left to walk. He scoops her into his arms and carries her out through the infirmary and back toward the Vau’s rooms and the lone one available.

“Stay here,” he orders setting her on the bed in what was meant to be Boss and Fixer’s room.

When he comes back freshly changed he has to manhandle the drowsy woman back into a sitting position, trying to not look at her as he slips the towel off and one of Scorch’s old undershirts over her head. She makes a soft contented noise as she inhales and the fabric envelops her. 

“You feel better?” 

“Yes.”

Sev freezes. Her voice is rough from disuse and she swallows hard. “Thank you.”

“Alright, Princess, enough of that. You need to go to sleep.” He can feel her eyes following his movements sluggishly as he pulls the covers down and she slides her legs in. She’s nearly asleep before her head hits the pillow. Sev is ready to be back in his own bed. He’s to the door when he hears it. Soft and scratchy but clear as day.

“Jessa.”

——-

Walon Vau was a true Mandalorian through and through. He took his oath to the creed incredibly serious. At his age he still rose early each morning, he still gave remembrance for his fallen _vode_ and trainees, and he still maintained his armor to impeccably high standards. He expected nothing less from his sons. He’s not surprised to hear Scorch moving about early - even without caf the lad seemed to run off a perpetual amount of energy that never seemed in short supply. No, what’s surprising is the lone pair of booted feet moving about. Sev wasn’t up. Sev was a much more regimented soldier then Scorch and even after his late night ramblings through the _vheh’yaim_ he was still up before his squad mate _._

He finishes dressing without too much thought and heads to the small _karyai_ he shared with his two sons. Scorch nods to the mug of caf on the table.

“ _Su cuy'gar, buir._ ”

“ _Su cuy'gar, ad’ika_.” He sits down across from his first adopted son. “Where’s your brother?” It’s a simple but loaded question. 

Over the months since they’d plucked Sev from a Transdoshan slavers camp on Kasshyk, he’d had a few setbacks. His mental state had grown better with time, but any diversion from routine put Vau’s teeth on edge and planted worry in his old black heart. Skirata, the sentimental old _sha’buir_ , had set up a home for four sons and life had only seen fit to give him two. Though he’d never tell them, they were both more precious to him then words could describe and he’d soon as burn the galaxy down before he’d allow harm to befall them.

“He was up early this morning,” Scorch answers with a shrug, “You know Sev. He’s probably decided he needed to go for a little walkabout.”

Walon nods and sips at his caf. He wonders if Mird had followed the boy. He hadn’t been curled up by Walon’s feet when he’d woken, which was very unlike the strill. Maybe Sev had finally taken a liking to his darling pet. He hoped he had. He would leave it to Jaing Skirata if he had to when he passed from the world, but he’d prefer one of his boys took care of his longtime companion. 

The arrival of Kal Skirata interrupts his musings. The surly old Mando merc doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Our patient is missing. Have you seen her? Bard’ika is concerned.”

A quiet huff comes from Fixer and Boss’s room. Walon recognizes the sound immediately and rises. He brushes past Skirata. Scorch brings up the rear behind the two elder _buirs._

Mirdalan peers at his owner from where it’s wrapped around the sleeping girl. Its golden head rests gently over her shoulder. Sev sits on the bed opposite with his back against the wall. He offers a quiet nod as he pushes up and off.

“Morning _buir_.” He tips his head in greeting. “Sargeant Skirata.”

“Sev.” Skirata takes his place at Walon’s side. “Care to explain why she’s in here?”

Walon gives his son a nod when he looks to him for direction.

“Jessa is not going to be staying in the infirmary anymore.”

There’s a lot of information to unpack in that one sentence from his _ad’ika_. 

“Jessa…” Behind him Scorch tries out the name. 

Skirata has his arms crossed over his chest. “Care to elaborate?”

Sev shrugs and glances back at the girl. She looks peaceful under the pile of blankets that have been draped and tucked around her. So this is where his son got off to this morning. Scorch nudges at Walon’s arm and the older man steps aside for the Commando to see. For a moment both clones are focused on the sleeping woman and Kal catches Walon’s eye, raising a brow. 

He can’t help but offer a roll of his eyes in response; neither of his _ad’ike_ had shown an inclination to ‘settle down’ and if they did, it certainly was not his job to play matchmaker.

“She’s as dangerous as a tooka kitten,” Sev offers.

“Is that how you got that scratch?” Vau focuses on on the thin slice standing out angrily below Sev’s jaw. 

“Cut myself shaving.”

Walon is not sure whether he should be proud or exasperated with how well he’s taught his _ad_. The only thing that lets on that he’s lying is the fine shadow of stubble the commando sported. No one mentions it.

“Does that mean we get to keep her?” Scorch steps into the room, his usual amusement on full display. “Is that my shirt?”

Sev grins at his brother. Scorch seems pleased with the idea and Walon is happy to see no competition between them.

“Better question, is that your blade?” Kal asks. Walon can see the dark nerf leather of Sev’s custom sheath tucked in her hand and held close.

Sev only seems to smile wider. That slight spark of wild, untamed bloodlust flashes in his eyes. “Looks real good there doesn’t it?”


	4. Chapter 4

The room is so quiet, so still. It’s a magical moment where, again, Jessa feels like maybe she’s transcended into the afterlife. She’s nestled among warm woolen blankets. Clean air flows freely in and out of her lungs. There’s no thick black soot making her choke with each burning pull of oxygen she takes. The scent of her own sweat, like overripe onions, doesn’t assault her senses. Her skin felt clean like it hadn’t in ages. When her fingers card through it, her hair feels soft. Jessa brings a lock of it to her nose and inhales. It smells just as clean as the rest of her. To imagine she’d joined the goddess didn’t seem too far fetched. **  
**

And then the two Mandalorians show up at the door. Scorch and Sev. Light and Dark. Day and Night.

Between them is a small breakfast of hot cereal and a cup of caf. It takes a moment to get her bearings and disentangle herself enough to sit up. 

“Honestly, I’m hurt,” Scorch cracks, “Here I am spending all my precious free time with you and you talk to this lousy _shabuir_ first.”

Jessa cuts a quick glance at Sev. His helm is tucked up under his arm. She nods a silent hello to him. Her cheeks flush as pieces and parts of the night before click into place; the clean clothes, the knife in her hand when she’d woken, the angry red cut along the clone’s neck. His skin against hers…

Jessa turns back to Scorch. 

“Good morning.” The words come out more croaked then anything. It stings and makes her eyes water but Scorch smiles a wide toothy smile that says he’s pleased with the greeting. Jessa’s throat doesn’t burn quite so much anymore.

Sev hovers in the doorway while Scorch insinuates himself into her space, plunking down unceremoniously at her feet. The springs creak angrily but Scorch pays no mind as Jessa, still shrouded in blankets, stares.

“Brought you some food.”

Jessa looks from the food in his hand and then back to his face.

“I like to think I’ve become a master at feeding. We can keep up the tradition-“ It’s a threat veiled thinly by the lighthearted banter she’d come to know him for. 

“No. I can- I can do it myself.” She reaches out for the bowl. “Please.”

It warms her hands instantly. Bordering on hot she places it on the blanket covering her lap. Fine golden hairs cling to the blanket. Scorch plucks one from the thick fabric and lets it drift from the tips of his fingers to the floor below. 

“Mirdalan likes you.” 

Sev grunts as he finally eases into the room. “Mird needs a hobby.”

“No worries, _Mesh’la_. I’m sure you’ll have the distinct pleasure of meeting it soon enough.” 

Jessa frowns at the bowl of cereal in her lap. Hair falls in a curtain around her face. She’s got questions - so many questions in fact - that she doesn’t know what to say or where to begin. 

Where was she? Who were these people? She knew of Mandalorians. Everything she’d ever heard was terrifying, but what she’d seen so far hadn’t backed up the stories she heard whispered in the workers’ barracks on Kappa Black. 

“Hey?”

Jessa jerks back as Scorch’s hand swipes her hair away from her face. The cereal sluices in the bowl. Her chest feels tight as she quickly steadies herself, pushing her hair roughly back behind her ears. A hot flush of embarrassment burns in her cheeks and chest.

“Easy Princess.” Sev’s low voice rumbles as he sinks down into the bed across from her.

“No touching.” Scorch holds his hands up. “Go ahead and eat up, ok?”

Jessa averts her eyes from the unreadable look he’s giving her and slowly brings the spoon from the bowl to her mouth, blowing softly to cool the bite.

It tastes just as good as it always does, sweet and warmly spiced. She tries to smile like she’d been taught as a child but it feels lackluster. 

“Thank you.”

Scorch nods quietly, still staring in a way that makes her turn toward Sev. He slurps loudly at the mug of caf in his hands.

“You need to talk to Sergeant Vau today.”

Jessa nods slowly. Sergeant. So this was a military installation? Nothing about this was good or ideal but there was no use balking. She didn’t have a choice.

It was nothing new. 

———-

“I’d ask, caf or tea but you strike me as a woman who enjoys a good cuppa.” It’s a simple statement, but coming from the intimidating Mandalorian in black it may as well have been a demand for Techno Union security codes. Jessa glances over her shoulder for the familiar figures of Sev and Scorch, but they’ve disappeared, left her in the small sitting area and disappeared as if they were never there to begin with.

Jessa takes a deep breath and remembers years of etiquette and manners.

“Tea would be most appreciated and rather more appropriate for the time of day.” Less than a standard day out of the infirmary and her throat is still sore, feeling raw each time she spoke. 

A smile curls at the corners of the Mando’s mouth. Even with polished manners of his own on display it was very clear that this man was a hunter. He was dangerous. He was someone not to cross. Jessa sits a little straighter. Her back bemoans the posture having gone too long bent over for work or in an infirmary bed. 

“Wonderful. Sugar?” 

She shakes her head, startled at the nearness of the older Mando. She’d drifted again. 

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, “Yes please.”

He doesn’t call out her inattentiveness. Two lumps of sugar fall gently into the steamy mug with barely a plop. Jessa takes the mug when offered and slowly stirs the contents, rolling the cup gently between her hands. When she looks up she finds the older man watching her.

“You’re Jessa, then?” he questions as she sets the cup back down. 

“Yes sir.”

“I cannot remember if we’ve been properly introduced. I am Walon Vau, you’re already familiar with my boys and some of the other family-“

“Pardon me, I’m sorry to interrupt but can I ask exactly where we are?”

“Mandalore,” he offers without giving a concrete location, “And where do you hail from - before Kappa Black,” he clarifies. His voice is pleasant enough and he speaks like any of the gentlemen she’d been exposed to growing up, but she has a distinct impression her answers were very important, being filed away for later perusal.

“Tillamau. Originally.” She decides short and sweet was the way to go. To let the Mando - Vau - fish what other information he needed from her.

He gives her a steady look as he finally sits, his tall frame leaning back in his seat. He’s elegant. His movements are purposeful and refined as he sips slowly at his own steaming drink. His eyes watch her over the rim of the mug.

“We’re from the same corner of the galaxy,” he says, without giving her a home planet of his own, “It’s a shame about that little coup that happened. What was it now…a standard year or so ago?”

Jessa can feel the color drain from her face. She’d wondered if the problems of her home world had seeped out into the galaxy. Such a small plant so far from the inner rim rarely warranted a second thought. 

“A dreadful thing,” she admits quietly. The tea is tasteless in her mouth as she sips.

No one had thought Tillamau’s military would turn against its religious order, the governing body Tillamau was built on. 

No, that wasn’t right. 

The Imperials had. The Empire had bolstered Tillamau’s small military. They had given them troops and weapons and ideas. 

“Is that how you managed to fall into this predicament?” The question is asked in a lazy, friendly sort of way, but Jessa can see by the focused gaze behind those lazy features that it was anything but. Walon Vau wanted answers. This was less a tea party and more an interrogation.

“It was.”

The older patriarch raises a finely arched brow. Jessa fights the feeling to look away. It wasn’t his business how she’d arrived on Kappa Black. Nor did her hellacious year there, unlearning everything she’d ever been taught, pertain to him. These were her things. Her thoughts. Her memories. They belonged to no one else. 

When she’d been eight Ma’duo had introduced her to a game. A polished wooden board full of different marble pieces. Each piece had rules and a purpose. Jessa had loved it almost instantly. Ma’duo had said one day her future husband may be entertained by playing the occasional game with her, and it was her job to know the most popular ones. It had taken a week to remember the intricacies each piece offered and another month to begin to pick up strategy. It was engrossing. Every waking moment was spent thinking of her next move, of what her opponent’s counter move may be, of what power play could be worked a half dozen turns later. She became good. She liked to win. She liked the pride she felt when she defeated Ma’duo. And then one day it was gone.

Her future husband would not like playing a game she won so easily. Her future husband would not ever want to lose to his wife. She wasn’t allowed any more games.

It was a valuable lesson both in the strategy of the game and life itself. It was best not to let your opponent know how much you knew. It was best to play dumb and allow your adversary to believe your act. If this Vau felt she was going to give him enough rope to strangle her with, he was sorely mistaken. 

A hot flare of anger burns bright in her chest as she pastes a placid, dull expression on her face. There were still lessons from her first life that she would use to her advantage.

She takes another swallow of her tea and lets the steaming liquid soothe her ragged throat. It’s a silent standoff. Two individuals feeling each other out. 

The sound of claws on duracrete offers a very welcome distraction. The pair both glance to the door as the creature she’d seen slinking around earlier proudly prances in.

“Mird’ika,” Vau greets, “good hunt?”

From the corner of her eye, Jessa can make out the fond smile on the Mando’s face. She follows his gaze to the large golden furred creature stalking in through the cracked door. She’s never seen anything like it. It raises its head proudly at the sound of its name then turns a bee line toward Jessa. It stops short of her chair and heads can only watch in horror as it drops a mangled pile of feathers at her feet. It sits back on its haunches as a single thread of drool falls down from its lip to the floor. It’s like it’s smiling at her, she realizes with sudden horror. The creature cocks its head before leaning down and nudging the bloodied carcass.

“Lord Mirdalan, my strill,” Vau introduces as if this was a common occurrence, “It usually doesn’t bring gifts. It must like you.”

As if to put a point on it, the creature makes a gentle trilling noise. 

She’d had very little experience with animals before Kappa Black and even then it was only the near feral massiffs they had guarding the facility. The strill wasn’t as large as the massiffs, but it was close and that alone was alarming.

Then the thought hit her. Scorch had plucked hair from her bedspread… it had been sleeping with her.

Mird lowers its lanky six-legged body to the floor, belly barely brushing the duracrete and slowly inches forward until it’s massive jaws nearly graze against her bare calf. Jessa bites back a sound as the animal’s hot breath touches her.

“It’s really quite gentle to those it deems worthy,” Vau offers. Mird makes another soft trill and looks up at her. Its deep amber gold eyes attempt to give her puppy dog stare.

With a shaking hand, she reaches out and gently rubs it over the strill’s head.

Mirdalan pushes up against her palm, arching its long back as it tips its head to look up at her. The chirp it makes sounds encouraging, happy. Jessa doesn’t notice the way the side of her mouth begins to pull into a smile as she begins to stroke the animal’s sleek fur.

“See? Not so bad.” Vau hums lowly as he takes another slow pull of his drink. Jessa looks up and catches an almost fond twist to the older man’s mouth. 

Maybe it didn’t have to be, but she wasn’t ready to let her guard down. Not yet.

———

“Time is a dreadful thing.”

Kal Skirata looks up from where he’s silently rocking his grandson by the fire. The tiny boy with his father’s dark hair and his mother’s solemn eyes is lost to sleep in his _ba’buir’s_ arms.

“It only ever goes fast,” the shorter, weathered merc agrees as Walon sinks into a nearby chair, “Have you come to grouse about the unfairness of it all like some common _aruetii?_ ”

Years ago Walon had never thought he would be sitting near one of his most hated adversaries pretending to be anything other than competition, but for better or worse, time, the loathsome thing, had softened the animosity the two had harbored and reshaped them first into allies and now into - dare he say it - friends.

Walon scoffs. “Here I was thinking I’d share the last of my _ti’haar_ with you.”

Skirata’s eyes light with amusement at the mention of the spirit. “Now don’t think I’m one to turn down a nip if it’s offered.” 

With one hand still firmly gripping the toddler, Kal reaches for a pair of glasses that had seemingly taken up residence on the small table nearest the fire. Walon knew for a fact Laseema or Besany changed them out for fresh ones daily whether their _buir_ in law had used them or not. Their adoration for the militant old merc was unquestionable. He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but Walon found himself experiencing a touch of jealousy at the adoring affection the old _chakaar_ received from both his sons and the women they’d drawn into their small family. Kal held sway like a mighty old rock lion doling out affection in reward for a job well done, and in return it earned him a pedestal so high Vau was shocked he could still pull in air at its heights.

Walon knew his boys cared for him and he for them, but it wasn’t a thing that was ever flashed around so carelessly as it was in the Skirata clan. And it wasn’t all his boys…

Kal clears his throat as he hands the glasses over between pinched fingers. Walon takes them willingly and fills each with two fingers worth of alcohol from a flask he kept hidden in his utility belt.

“I thought we were out,” Kal admits, rolling the clear liquid around in the glass and taking a slow sip. The logs on the fire crackle quietly. The pair sip in companionable silence. Skirata hums happily. He reaches the bottom of his glass before Vau. 

“What do you know of Tillamau?” Walon asks finally. Skirata frowns, greying brows knitting together in thought.

“Probably not as much as you I’m guessing.”

He can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up. “Probably not.”

Tea had been enlightening. Walon had been very curious about the young woman who’d stolen onto their ship and had shifted his _ad’ikes_ attention since.

“I went there once. Not to far past my thirteenth year I’d guess. Neighboring planet. More like Irmenu than it was different.” Kal makes a gruff sound of understanding.

Walon’s first impression of Jessa Family-Name-Unknown was of a scared child caught somewhere she knew she shouldn’t be. Not quite the hand in the proverbial cookie jar but a child lost in the market out of sight of their guardian’s watchful gaze. It was promising that she seemed to realize she was in the den of hunters. Even with the care she’d received, she hadn’t allowed herself to become comfortable. He’d had to carefully wrestle every bit of information he had from her.

“Irmenu’s priests run the country in the name of the Gods. Tillamau’s runs theirs in the name of an almighty goddess.”

“Progressive.” 

Walon huffs a laugh, finishes his drink and takes Skirata’s glass, adding some more _ti’haar._ “So you would think.”

Jessa carried herself like a girl who’d been coached on it every day of her life. She was educated in manners, in maintaining full pleasantries. Even with her obvious concern about her situation she’d done well enough that Vau thinks in any other company she may have pulled off the act of a Tillamau socialite out for a social call.

“Female children are considered a gift on Tillamau. The ratio of male to female births has been skewed for going on a millennia. The priesthood chalks it up to the will of the Goddess. I’ve seen one research paper claiming it’s naturally occurring androgens in the water.” 

Kad whimpers quietly in his sleep and Kal bounces him gently. Something his mother or father would do if they were there. 

“So your girl comes from good stock is what you’re saying?”

There was no doubt Kal skirata would never be mistaken for a poet but sometimes, Walon notes, he had a way with words that would stop you in your tracks. Your girl. Their girl. Of course he’d been one to claim responsibility for the whelp - his _ad’ike_ had been the ones to unwittingly bring her home after all - but to put that verbal ownership… yours… theirs.

Scorch and Sev had already shown an uncanny interest in her whereabouts and well-being. Finding Sev watching her sleep in the unclaimed bedroom had definitely piqued Walon’s own curiosity. Speaking with her had only bred more. He was a pragmatist though and harbored no will to play matchmaker like his colleague - if that was what the cunning _di’kut_ was edging him towards.

“Have you ever seen a jerba?”

Kal seems surprised by the question, narrowing his eyes in response.

“No I am not referring to the child as a jerba!” Walon defends, “I’m tired, Skirata and I’m trying to make a point.”

“Your constant questions are beginning to bore me. It’s best you get to your point.”

Vau rolls his eyes to the ceiling above and takes a sharp breath. 

“Jerba are prized among a certain subset. I’ve seen them go on the black market for more credits than fancy pleasure slaves. The Tillamau treasure their female offspring like collectors treasure their jerba. They’re not so much children as they are a prized currency. The girl was likely born to a higher caste family. As soon as she was born she was handed to a nurse maid to raise. Her parents would check in from time to time but until she was properly trained they likely had little time or interest besides providing for said education.”

Kal rolls his tongue behind his upper lip. It left a bad taste in Walon’s mouth as well.

“So what would they be training them for?”

“Oh, the women of Tillamau are prized wives you see. We trained perfect soldiers for the Republic and Tillamau did the same for ladies. Poise, grace, a strong will to please whomever her family sold - married her off to.”

“So a slave no different from the boys?”

“To an extent. Her marriage would have cemented her family’s high standing in society. A man with a wife would be seen as having curried favor with the goddess. It’s win-win for everyone. Well,” he amends “except for maybe the bride to be who has no say in the matter.”

“How did she end up on Kappa Black if she’s got such value at home?”

“That’s what I’m still trying to figure out. Imps came and convinced the priesthood to allow an outpost to be set up nearly two standard rotations ago. A year ago the military - backed by the Empire - rose up and destroyed the religious order. From what I hear everything was chaos…”

The fire is beginning to burn low. Hot red embers glow where the carefully built pile of wood once stood. They’ll need to add some wood not before too long. 

“Vau, is this you making a case for her to stay?”

“Do you think I’ve gone soft?” Walon glances at the older Mando from the corner of his eye as he moves to add a pair of logs to the dying fire. Kal doesn’t answer.

“What of her loyalty? Is that ingrained into her as well?” 

Walon answers honestly. “I’m not sure. Maybe not. Maybe so. I have a feeling she can be of use to us. You love a useful person.”

Kal hums in agreement. Walon knew his friend and he could already see the gears turning in his head. 

He must be getting old. His black heart must be going to mush. He must be losing his edge. Walon can’t think of another reason why he felt as invested as he did in the girl’s future. 

Delta Squad had never had a chance at a normal life, a happy childhood. It hadn’t been his job to raise children. It had been Walon Vau’s job to train competent soldiers and he had done so successfully. When he thinks about Boss and Fixer, he wonders if he was too successful. At least he could see, even now, in his remaining _ad’ike_ the sense of direction he’d started them on. Their training - though no longer used for the betterment of the Grand Army of the Republic - had been repurposed for maintaining the safety and future of their clan. Jessa didn’t have that. She had no discernible path to follow. She likely had never made a choice in her life. Maybe officially being a _buir_ had brought out some latent paternal instinct, because Walon found himself wanting to give her the option, to allow her some sense of place in the galaxy.

“I’d ship her over to Laseema tomorrow. Maybe she needs to see the softer side of Kyrimorut,” Kal offers after a minute.

Walon nods and finishes his _ti’haar_ while Kad sleeps on.


	5. Chapter 5

Kitchens became home to Laseema about the time her breasts started budding. True she had liked food before that point - as her mother would have happily told anyone - but after she started developing, she took refuge in the cantina kitchen and the work to be found there to escape from the leering glares and lewd comments from men far older than her father had lived to see. **  
**

It hadn’t taken her long to go from hiding from the clientele to genuinely enjoying the job of cooking for a crowd. While she hadn’t gotten to flex her culinary muscle until she’d truly fallen in with Kal Skirata and his boys, she had enjoyed her work. She liked making something from nothing, to see people come in hungry and leave not only full, but satisfied. It gave her purpose. It made her feel useful.

Now on Kyrimorut it had become something else entirely. She got to create. The meals she wove together nourished not only their current family but the next generation - the ones already on the ground - and the ones still just a twinkle in the eye of their _buir_ to be. 

In the summer months fresh vegetables from the gardens -sautéed in butter from Rav Bralor’s nerf herd - were always a favorite. The vegetable patches, fruit vines, and small orchard they tended gave bountifully. Summer was a time to stock for the rest of the year. By the time fall and the remains of the harvest rolled around the large underground pantry was filled with crocks and jars of pickles and fermented vegetables. Rows of rich red sauces to be ladled over homemade noodles and spicy, bright curries to be served with rice lined the pantry walls. If Mandalorians and Twi’lek share only one thing it was their love of spice. Pickled peppers and hot, scorching condiments were always present on the communal table. A favorite of the clan was a particularly spicy mixture of cabbage, garlic, ginger and chilis diced, salted and fermented that the clone’s would put on nearly everything if given the option.

The deep freezer was stocked with pre cut frozen vegetables. Meats -roba and nuna from their own land and nerf traded from the Bralor compound - were neatly labeled and packaged awaiting its use in hearty soups and thick stews or roasts to be accompanied by a multitude of the bright root vegetables stored in the pantry. 

What Kyrimorut didn’t produce on its own was often traded for with other local clans. Red meat was a specialty from the Bralor’s, as was the deep amber honey Laseema used to sweeten many of their dishes. Flour, sugar, rice, and other various grains were purchased in bulk in Enceri or Keldabe while the expansive (and at times overwhelming) collection of spices and herbs were gathered in various markets by hunters picking up work as it came in.

As she watches Jessa slowly get the hang of prep work, Laseema wonders what Etain would have been like had she survived Order 66. 

From the moment Scorch had dropped her off at Laseema’s door three days prior the twi’lek couldn’t help but notice similarities in the two women. They looked nothing alike of course - pale Etain with her mousy hair would never have been mistaken for Jessa. The girl’s bronzed skin and ink black hair made sure of that. No, it was in the eyes. An unsureness, a wariness that carried over into the way Jessa tracked others in the room, the way she focused to perfect the tasks given to her, the way the frustration seemed to rise when she failed to do so as if she’d taken a small set back as a flaw within her very being. 

No, Jessa wasn’t Etain. She was just a girl - a young woman, Laseema corrects - who’d had the misfortune to fall into the hands of a ruthless corporation and then the questionable luck to pick Vau’s ship to escape it.

“I’m doing better?”

Laseema smiles gently at the question. Jessa had barely spoken the first day. Scorch had done all the talking for her when he’d walked her to the kitchen, and when he’d picked her up so she could rest in the afternoon. She was still only slightly stronger than a newborn Tooka. Doc Gilamar’s orders had been firm that she was to be allotted rest throughout the day and to not push herself. Scorch had been very clear on the Doc’s instructions with a serious tilt to his tone that took Laseema by surprise. Jessa had stood at his side like a child being dropped off for their first day at school, nervous eyes dancing around and toes digging at the duracrete tiles.

“Much better,” Laseema says after a minute of watching the younger woman dice another onion. Tears are prickling at her eyes from the fumes. “Try to make them just a little smaller on the next one. After we’re done cooking this we want them to almost disappear.”

Jessa nods and refocuses, using the overly large sleeve on her borrowed tunic to wipe at her eyes. Laseema makes a mental note to ask permission to bring Jessa with her on the next trip into Enceri. No one had mentioned her future or where it would be but the twi’lek can’t see it being anywhere but Mandalore and Kyrimorut for the immediate time being. She’d need clothes of her own and not those stolen from the drawers of the Vau _ad’ike_. The old _chakaar_ was well enough off to reach into his coffers to provide his new charge with something more befitting a young lady. 

It wasn’t a fair thought. Laseema knew Vau wouldn’t think twice of providing for someone under his watchful eye but she also knew she could never look at her beloved _riduur_ and not see what a cruel creature Walon Vau was capable of being - no matter what excuse he used. While he was family he’d never hold a place in her heart like Kal’buir did and Laseema would be sure to keep a protective eye on Jessa just in case.

“How goes it today _vod’ika_?” 

Laseema glances to find Parja meandering over to the sink to wash her hands. The water runs black into the sink as she works soap between her fingers. Laseema doesn’t miss the curious look the Mandalorian woman shoots Jessa. To have another woman join the fray was a welcome distraction from the overwhelmingly male population of Kyrimorut. Both Besany and Parja had taken up more space in the kitchen then they had in ages outside of routine chores. It was a nice change of pace from the sometimes smothering amount of testosterone any of them had to deal with. 

“ _Su cuy’gar_ ” Laseema greets with a wry smile. Parja lets out a sharp laugh that startles Jessa at the table. Laseema winces and waits. The girl’s jumpy nature had led to more then one cut in the last few days. 

“Jessa,” Parja greets, softening her voice. She’s rewarded with a soft smile and nod of her head before the other woman returns to her work, no blood spilled.

“Ladies.” Besany Skirata greets the trio as she arrives, waiting patiently for Parja to finish at the sink before she takes her spot. “It’s that time again.”

Parja and Laseema groan in unison. 

Bes had become something like a storekeeper for the compound, using her way with numbers to make sure that all of the rotating population of twenty plus Skirata and Vau clans members were taken care of. While Laseema managed the kitchen and pantry, Parja oversaw the workshop and a vast majority of repairs to the speeders, ships, and farm implements in house. Besany’s job was to make sure everyone had what they needed to make life- far removed from the reliability of Keldabe- work. These impromptu meetings were often a headache none of them wanted to deal with, but a necessary evil.

“I’ll put a pot of caf on to perk.” Parja announces rising from her seat only a moment after just sitting. Jessa finishes her dicing and pushes it off to the side in an attempt to get away from the tear inducing fumes. She glances at Laseema as she gathers the onions and quickly adds them to the stock pot simmering on the stove. 

“Work meeting,” the twi’lek quietly explains.

Jessa nods and glances shyly toward Bes. 

At the best of times Besany Skirata could be seen as intimidating. As Ordo’s partner she’d taken up a certain amount of leadership within the family. On top of that, with two small children and the recent announcement of a third on the way she radiated enough tired mom energy to make anyone stop and take note. She had little patience for foolery and things that threw off her carefully cultivated schedule.

“We’re missing farming and armory,” Besany says, pulling out a datapad and frowning prettily. Jessa cocks her head slightly and Laseema explains. 

“Mereel oversees produce production. He’s…” She pauses to think of the best way to explain without revealing too much.

“He’s on assignment off world,” Besany offers, “Corr monitors livestock. I can get up with him later.”

“Who handles the armory?” The question is so softly spoken that it takes a minute before any of them to gauge that Jessa’s spoken. “I’m sorry-“ She tries to backtrack quickly but stops dead when Besany holds up a hand.

“You’re fine. Easy,” she soothes.

“Armory would be your boys,” Parja says from the stove. Laseema doesn’t miss the slight sparkle in the woman’s eye as she says it.

Really it was only a matter of time before someone started hinting at pairing the only single female on the homestead up with one of the many eligible men, though Laseema had hoped it would be longer than just a few days. By the roll of Besany’s eyes at Parja’s comment she must feel the same way. Parja was Mando born and bred. This was the way. Early, quick marriages born of convenience were often the way of things. It was practical and had kept their people alive for millennia. It didn’t mean the two women who’d married into the family and the way had to agree with it wholeheartedly.

Kal’buir was no better than Parja. If anything, he was worse. He had been the day before. Laseema had known by the look in his eyes and the gentle, leading questions he’d asked. The old merc was doing his recce, gathering intel to figure out which of his boys he’d play matchmaker for next. Laseema had run him off not too long after she realized what the kindly old _ba’buir_ routine was really for. A slice of Uj cake to share with his grandson was all it had taken for the time being, but she knew how persistent he could be. The old _shabuir_ couldn’t help himself, she understood that, but she also knew it only took one look at their newest resident to know now was not the time. Just a few days ago she’d thought herself a prisoner at a military installation. A week before that she’d been a slave on a mining colony. Before that, the galaxy only knew, but it had certainly not been normal.

For her part, Jessa hadn’t seemed to notice Parja or Kal’s actions being anything other than innocent and Laseema finds that one bit of innocence she still must possess to be a blessing. Maybe it wasn’t naïveté, she thinks as she watches the younger woman carefully. Jessa was still very much trying to get her footing and her focus was laser intense and set on the tasks Laseema provided her. 

Parja sets a pot of caf on the table and Jessa rises quickly to collect cream, sugar and mugs. Besany waves her off when she attempts to set one in front of her.

“The baby isn’t having it,“ she explains.

Jessa gives her a curious look but moves on, finally finding her seat across from Parja. The women form a small square, only taking up a tiny portion of the long table. Made from a felled tree from the nearby woods, the raw edges were still lined with bark, though the top had been planed smooth and heavily lacquered the table could - and had - fit the entire population of both clans.

Jessa stares down into her mug as she slowly stirs in sugar- a reasonable amount, not a commando amount. She stirs long after the sweetener has been dissolved. Bes looks up from her datapad and gives the girl a long look.

“You ok?”

Jessa glances up and gives a half smile. Ok was a relevant term. In the grand scheme of things, Parja and Besany had only ever experienced second hand trauma. Things - awful things - had happened to those around them and while it had affected them, it wasn’t like it was for the commandos and nulls, the buirs, or even Laseema. They didn’t know what bondage felt like, they’d never been owned. They didn’t know what it was like and while Parja was Mandalorian and had presumably been on a hunt or two in her life, she didn’t know the horrors of war that the men, with their perfect memories, relieved over and over. 

“I’m overwhelmed.” 

It’s the first thing she’s said that hasn’t been a question about the work she’d been given and Besany pauses for a half a second before a wide, knowing smile crosses her face.

“Welcome to the family I suppose.”

Parja laughs at the pinched expression that crosses Jessa’s thin face. 

“We’ve all been there at one point or another and we all have gotten past it. You will too.”

That was Parja. Always so sure that everything and everyone could be fixed. Laseema gives Jessa a gentle bump with her elbow before turning toward the younger woman. Her lekku curl and unfurl calmly. 

“Be gentle with yourself. All good things in time, yeah?”

Jessa gnaws at her lip for a moment and nods her head slowly. 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Besany, always diplomatic, gently eases the conversation toward business. It was coming time to prepare for the long Kyrimorut winter, a time when trips to Enceri and Keldabe for supplies and necessities were not guaranteed. Parja starts with talk of raw materials needed - things that bored Laseema to no end, but kept the Mandalorian woman speaking and gesturing emphatically. Besany keeps her face in the datapad. Her fingers fly rapidly as she makes notes and punches numbers.

Keeping the homestead up and running required military efficiency. Luckily they were privy to some of the greatest minds in the galaxy in that department. The shopping would be divvied up among the varying members of the family. As the list of dry stores slowly grows Laseema finds herself wondering if Enceri or the longer trip to the more well stocked Keldabe would be better. She questions Besany lightly and the conversation devolves into the merits of one verse the other. Jessa sips quietly at her caf, taking everything in until the gentle clatter of beskar can be heard approaching.

The Sev rounds the corner as they’re finishing up. The Delta sniper’s eyes narrowing at the four women as if something was amiss with the situation.

“Ah, Sev’ika!” Laseema greets, “Have you culled those nuna for the stock pot yet?”

“In a bit. I’m in different business right now,” he says in his short way before turning his cool gaze to Jessa, “Ready for your nap, Princess?” 

Jessa flushes a deep crimson. Sev lacked so much in social graces that sometimes it was hard to believe that he came from the same training Sargent as Atin, Laseema’s riduur, had.

“I’m not tired,” Jessa says, barely fighting off a poorly timed yawn. Besany smothers a smile behind her hand.

Laseema watches as Sev crosses his arms over his chest. His buyce tips forward, unconvinced.

“Doc said you need to rest.”

Laseema feigns interest in her fingernails, Bes in her datapad. Parja openly watches the interaction. Sev Vau was not flexible. Not before Kasshyk and maybe even less so after. Honestly, Laseema is not even sure. Scorch acted as his _vod’s_ buffer so frequently these days that she’s not even sure she could read him if he wanted to, but Scorch must be busy if he wasn’t here collecting Jessa with the kid gloves he wore around her.

Laseema glances at the younger woman from the corner of her eye. She’s chewing her words, starts once then stops. Laseema’s lek twitches as Jessa’s jaw sets in a firm line.

“I don’t need to rest today. I’m good.”

Sev’s buyce cocks to the side, the reflective T of his visor focused solely on Jessa. One beat. Two beats. 

“Fine. If you’re not resting, you’re gonna work. Let’s go.” He turns on his heel as if what he’s said was the law. He gets to the door before he turns back. Jessa’s mouth has gone slack as she looks at Parja for something like back up. The armored Mando woman shrugs and Jessa’s mouth snaps shut.

“Now Princess.” Sev grunts from his spot near the door. She rises from her seat at the table and moves to put her mug away. 

Laseema offers a small smile, “I’ve got it. Go give Sev a hand. He’s obviously not a big enough boy to do what needs to be done on his own.” The comment earns her a glare from the Delta sniper but a smothered giggle from Jessa that makes it entirely worth it.

——

Jessa falls into step behind the Commando. He only glances over his shoulder once to make sure she’s following. She really doesn’t have a choice. The main building of Kyrimorut was a warren of hallways that she’d yet to make sense of. Married couples down one. Bachelors another. Pantry and lab and armory branching off in wicked roots that she hadn’t had a chance nor an urge to untangle. The route from the Vau’s wing to the kitchen was, thankfully, a straight shot though she’d never had to (been allowed to) make it by herself. 

Jessa takes two steps for every one Sev does to keep up. She can feel eyes follow their progress. She catches Bardan with little Kad hanging from his arm like a tiny monkey-bird. He offers her a smile before turning to scoop the giggling toddler into his arms. Even if they’d gotten off to a rough start - she had apologized for biting him and promised to never do it again - she’d still much rather be sitting with the one non clone brother then following the near mute one to stars only knew where. Sev wasn’t easy like Scorch. His mood seemed to be stuck on sour. He didn’t smile. He didn’t joke. He glared and brooded and generally made being in a room with him uncomfortable. 

“Where are we going?” She manages to hold the questions back as they pass Laseema’s husband Atin and Parja’s Fi. A cool blast of air hits her face as the warmth of Kyrimorut’s never ending halls suddenly spills into the open country surrounding it. 

It’s gorgeous country unlike the icy world of Tillamau she’d called home for the better part of her life or the dusty dead asteroids of Kappa Black she’d called hell for a year.

Kyrimorut - as she’d been told - was a northern outpost on Mandalore. As Laseema had explained it, Sargent Skirata had commissioned its building before the fall of the republic. It was the safety net his family fell back to when the world imploded and the empire rose. It’s early fall now and the weather is beginning to chill quickly. She can see where the land would become unwelcoming and inhospitable, how the cold winter winds will whip across the plains to the far end of the compound. This would be the families second winter and Laseema had ensured they’d worked the bugs out after the first. The wood shed nearest the barn is stuffed to overflow and the promise that no one would go cold hangs rests there.

The wind nearly drowns out the deep baritone of Sev’s voice but Jessa catches something about harvesting. She pays it little mind as her eyes continue to wander. The leaves on the trees in the forest to the east are turning colors, seemingly burning along the branches in intense reds, oranges, and all the golden hues in between. She can’t remember a time she’s seen such intense color around her. A trio of leaves blows along the ground in front of her, dancing and twisting around one another as a stiff breeze whips them into a tiny spinning dervish. So enthralled with the ballet being performed, Jessa nearly walks into Sev. Arms crossed and buyce cocked, he waits quietly.

They’ve come to a stop in front of the nuna wire pen. The nuna jockey and push one another near the door hoping for a handout. They’re a plain looking creature, fat and nearly fluffy looking from the over abundance of brown feathers covering their bodies. Their black beady eyes survey the new arrivals as nothing more than a possible meal as tiny clucks and bawks spew from yellow beaks.

“You ever killed anything before?”

The question catches Jessa by surprise. Then it dawns on her why they’re at the nuna pen. Laseema had mentioned earlier needing to make a nuna stew and a batch of broth. Coming from a world of ration packs - and before that of private cooks - Jessa had never needed to think of where her food came from. It was just there.

“No. I haven’t.”

Sev nods slowly turning toward a dark figure loping along the tree line. Jessa turns to see the light shape turn from the line and head towards them. The odd six-legged gait brings Mird to them in seconds, the creature disturbingly fast. Jessa is still nervous around the strill. It’s size alone would be intimidating but it’s large teeth bared in what Sergeant Vau has lovingly referred to as a strill smile were sometimes more than she could handle. Regardless of any discomfort she may display, the strill takes its position at her side nudging her hand with its soft golden head.

“Hello Mird,” she whispers. Sev grunts his displeasure and the nuna rustle at the sight of the predator. Jessa runs her finger through its sleek soft fur.

“Go away Mird.” The creature is completely unperturbed by the commandos growled order, sitting down at Jessa’s side in an act of clear, drooling defiance. It leans its long muscular body against her thigh. Jessa can feel it’s reassuring body heat seeping through the plain pants she wore.

“He can’t stay,” Sev grumbles. Jessa bites back a smile as she looks down at the strill.

“I don’t think you have a say in that.” A silent standoff takes place between the two hunters. Mird comes out victorious. 

Sev waves a hand in the strill’s direction. “Fine.”

The nuna accept Mirdalan’s presence with even less grace than Sev. They flutter and flap as the trio enter the pen. The strill stalks around the perimeter only stopping at the sound of Sev’s irritated sigh.

“Mird. Stay. Sit… Please.” The creature does sit but glares at the Commando. The two seem to have reached some unspoken truce. Jessa thinks it may have been the please. When Sev is sure the strill won’t dart into the tightly mobbed flock of Nuna he turns to Jessa.

“You still have my knife?”

Apprehension twists in her gut as she slowly nods. The polished t-visor stares blankly at her.

“…ok so where is it? Get it.” 

She crouches down and slides up the leg of her pants to unsheathe the blade. When she looks up, the dark black eyes of the nuna are on her, eye level. She straightens and hands the knife to the waiting man. Sev tightens his grip on the handle, squeezing experimentally.

“Little big for you, isn’t it,” he notes aloud. It was. It didn’t feel natural in her hand, big and ungainly in her grip as opposed to an extension of Sev’s own. Jessa nods. 

“I’ll get it fixed for you. Now…” he trails off looking at the flock slowly beginning to spread out as they became used to the intruders.

“What are you looking for?” Jessa asks, sick curiosity driving the question. 

Sev crouches down, resting his elbows on his thighs. His buyce doesn’t move, but Jessa is sure his eyes are scanning back and forth over the flock. 

“Two things we don’t need, weak and useless.”

Jessa stares hard at the Mandalorian. The words strike her as something more, like he’s offering an education and a threat in one easy to digest explanation. Make yourself invaluable or be thrown to the wayside. Ok. At least he wasn’t mincing words.

“So which are the candidates?” she continues. 

Sev’s helmet tips in her direction, the unseeing black of his visor studying her for a moment before he turns back and points to two Nuna. 

“Tell me why I’m picking these two?”

Jessa takes a moment to watch the two birds scratch about the yard. The one is noticeably missing some feathers along its back. It’s thinner than the others and not as robust. When Mird yawns and the other nuna fly into a tizzy stirring up a cloud of dust with the flap of their wings it lingers a second behind.

“Weak.” She answers before studying the second. It’s a younger bird. It keeps up with the flock. Maybe too well. It’s a cockerel by its coloration and Jessa watches as it attempts to woo an obviously uninterested hen. When the female doesn’t give him the time of day, it begins pecking at her. Her loud squawks draw the attention of the rooster who runs in to disrupt the irritating youngster.

Sev doesn’t seem bothered by her questioning look. “He’s redundant. We have an acceptable rooster and a few in reserve that don’t harass the hens. He’s _made_ himself the target.

It’s solid reasoning that she can’t argue. It’s easy to tell where this is going by the way Sev flips the knife in his hand. The sunlight slipping through the clouds glints off the blade. He moves it like it’s an extension of his body and it only takes a minute for her to realize that in fact it was.

She’d only received the vaguest education on her whereabouts from sergeant Vau. Luckily, between Laseema and Parja she’d learned enough about Kyrimorut and its residents to not feel completely lost. Clones defected from the Grand Army after the fall of the Republic - the adopted sons of Kal Skirata and Walon Vau - made the northern outpost their home and safe place to fall back to. The amount of kills attributed to the men that called Kyrimorut home were innumerable. Laseema had mentioned that Delta - the squad claiming Sev, Scorch, and their two missing brothers - had a particularly deadly reputation that the remaining two were happy to uphold.

Jessa didn’t have anywhere else to go. She had no great clan or family to take her back. Leaving her planet (even by force) marked her as tainted goods and even if she could get back, goddess only knew what retribution waited for her. While she still knew little about the people who’d taken her in she knew that they were good people and that, at least for now, she wanted to stay. Sev was showing her how and no amount of nerves or anxiety as the knife stilled and his free hand darted out and grabbed the nuna cockerel by the neck would get in the way of that.

Obediently she trails behind Sev as he moves out of the coop and to a small covered duracrete slab. There’s a row of cones, upside down and set at chest height. Jessa watches as the bird, hung by its feet, is placed head first into one of the cones.

“It’s easy on them.” Sev explains as he motions her forward to see more clearly. “It’s quick and the position makes ‘em almost catatonic before you even slice ‘em.”

Jessa takes in the slow blink of the bird’s eyes, the calmness in the absurd position with its feet sticking up into the air. She watches as Sev twists its neck slightly.

“Jugular.” He points to an area of the bird’s neck with the knife’s tip. “You ready?”

The question startles her. Sev takes a step back and stands with the knife offered.

“I’ve never… could you…?” That damn helmet gives nothing away as she stumbles to talk. He needed to show her first and then she’d do it for the next one. Sev reaches out and takes her hand in his. For a moment she thinks he’s offering comfort with the gentle squeeze he gives her, but no. He’s opening her palm and placing the overly large blade in her grasp, closing her fingers tight around the handle.

“Do it.” 

Her jaw snaps shut as she squeezes the handle, an overwhelming urge to punch the commando in the face quickly growing to replace the anxiety that’s been building.

“Did you hear-“

“I heard you just fine,” she growls. 

A thin bead of sweat rolls down the back of her neck,under her tunic and down her back. She rolls her shoulders uselessly trying to capture it in the fabric of her shirt.

One step forward and she’s elbowing the commando away from the nuna. He makes an amused huff. Another second later and she’s grabbing its head. She takes a deep breath. The edge of the blade visibly trembles as she brings it up.

The familiar energy, the nervous compulsion to excel prickles at the back of her mind. She needed to do this. She needed to prove to him that she was useful. That she had value enough to stay, to be safe. With one more breath she brings the knife into position and before she can over think it pulls it hard across the bird’s neck. 

Jessa jumps back as its head hangs and its body begins to jerk in the cone. It’s horrible to watch but she can’t stop.

“Sloppy,” Sev grunts, “you severed the spinal cord. Cut too far.”

Jessa feels her shoulders slump and the fight drains out of her as the blood drains from the bird into a bucket below and the bird’s body rattles violently. She can’t look at Sev as he steps away leaving her to wallow in her own perceived failure. He’s back a minute later fitting the other nuna of the day into the cone next to her.

“Come here,” he demands, the gravel of his voice tinny through his buyce. Jessa does as she’s told after a moment’s hesitation. Sev motions to the spot immediately in front of him and Jessa slips into the small space. Beskar covered arms come up on either side of her, his right hand wrapping around her wrist and guiding it up. 

“I’ll show you this time.” It’s said softer, not what any normal person would consider soft but for Sev, Jessa realizes, it’s as soothing as she’s ever heard him. The muscles pull tight between her shoulders as she takes a slow breath. It’s blown out in a shaky shudder.

“Relax, Princess.”

It’s easy for him to say. This is only the second time she’s ever had a man so close, his body, warm and covered in beskar plating molds behind her. His fingers circle her wrist. His grip is firm but not harsh like she’d expected. Everything about Sev screamed sharp edges. From his gruff voice to the stiff way he held himself even in a room full of his extended family. The only time he ever looked relaxed were at his brother’s side or nights alone in, what she was calling the Vau wing with his Buir.

A slight chill works its way down her back as the nerf hide encased fingers guide her knife hand. The modulated growl next to her ear brings an unfamiliar heat flaring to life in her cheeks. 

“Pull. Don’t push. If the blade is even half way acceptable it’ll do the work for you. Just want to cut the artery. Won’t jerk that way.”

Jessa nods silently as the lightly modulated voice explains.

“Are you ready?”

Jessa shakes her head and Sev huffs again. 

“Tough cookies, here we go.”

The commando grips the bird’s head in his large mitt and brings Jessa’s knife hand into place. “One. Two-“

He doesn’t make it to three before he’s guiding her hand in a quick slash across the nuna’s neck. Jessa feels the slight give of flesh through the handle. She expects nausea or regret, something to indicate she feels bad but it doesn’t come. The bird doesn’t make a sound as blood begins draining in a thick red stream flows into the bucket below. There’s no jerking or spasming from the dying animal. It’s fast and it’s -she thinks - almost peaceful. 

Leaning back ever so slightly against Sev’s beskar covered chest, she watches. Neither says a word for a long moment. Sev’s free hand hovers in midair for a moment before coming to rest at her waist tentatively. More heat flares this time in her -

A loud squawk and a following flurry of flapping wings drags their attention back to the coop. In a graceful leap Mird clears the top of the fence, a head higher than Sev or Scorch stood. that’s not what truly has her attention. No, what makes her eyes go wide and her pulse begin to race is the poor nuna flapping wildly, its neck hanging from the strill’s mouth as its wings pummel weakly against the animal’s chest as it tries to extricate itself.

“ _Fekking_ hells,” Sev curses lowly as he steps away. Jessa feels the immediate loss of his heat. She watches as he moves toward the creature. Mird sidesteps his master’s son at a trot. Sev stops and turns his buyce back to her as the golden haired strill proudly slinks over and drops the flapping bird at her feet. There’s blood trickling from its mouth and the usual soft, almost comical sounds she’s used to from the nunas are wet and frothy.

“Mird…” The animal cocks its head and pants happily as it stares at Jessa. Its elongated features seem to smile. A smattering of feathers hang from strands of drool clinging to its jaw. 

Time seems to slow for a moment as Jessa feels the now familiar weight of the blade in her hand. The nuna flops against her boot. It’s dying. Mird smacks it with a paw. 

A sound escapes the back of Jessa’s throat and the creature looks expectantly from her to the nuna and back again. She can’t watch the thing spasm helplessly in the ground. 

Gravel bites into the knees of the borrowed pants she’s wearing as she sinks to the ground scooping the bird into her arms, shuffling its body under one and using her elbow to hold it in place. A hand grips its head while she brings the knife up just as Sev had shown her moments ago. A quick internal countdown and then she’s dragging the blade and the nuna’s blood is spilling across the ground. Mird trills happily as it leans into the lick the pooling blood.

“Better.” 

Jessa looks up to find Sev staring. His light praise makes her want to preen but the moment is there and gone in a flash as he moves to collect the previously slaughtered birds.

“Now we get to clean them.”

————-

It’s not hard to extricate himself from the kitchen. A quick grumble and a few words and it’s as if none of the occupants really know he’s gone. It’s good. It’s normal. He doesn’t need Skirata’s mutts asking him to stay and play family unit. He’s got his family. He’s got his _vod_ and his _buir._ He doesn’t need anything else. Except maybe…

He feels Jessa’s pale blue eyes following him out the door. 

The girl is an issue, he decides.

Or maybe… maybe his reaction to her is more of the issue. All the way back to the kitchen he’d kept an eye on her face, on the speckles of blood clinging to her warm skin. She didn’t look him in the eye the entire time he’d instructed her on cleaning the dispatched nunas. Even after he’d discarded his buyce she’d kept her eyes firmly on the task at hand. He’d never really had to teach someone before, a perk of eidetic memory and living among soldiers for so long. You heard something once, you remembered it. So he’d channeled Wal’buir. He wasn’t going to praise her - particularly not for lackluster results. The problem was it didn’t seem to push her like it had Delta squad. Her shoulders slumped instead of squared up. She looked more hesitant than resolute. It was confusing to say the least. 

When she had gotten it though - when the damn strill had brought her the half dead bird like a parent teaching its pup to hunt - and ended the miserable creature’s existence in one clean swipe of her hand without prompt. He felt a pride well in his chest. And something else. 

Her hair was catching the wind and blowing gently around her face. She was slowly starting to put on some weight, her face was less sunken and her cheeks were flushed pink. Speckles of nuna blood hung across her nose like macabre freckles and when she used the back of her knife hand to wipe a stray hair from her eye she smeared a streak of the red stuff along her cheek. 

It made his chest curl and twist in on itself in an unfamiliar, vaguely uncomfortable way. It made other things uncomfortable too…

The water pelts down hard against Sev’s back as he steps into the shower. He fumbles behind him for the temperature control turning it hot, so hot that he can imagine his skin burning bright red. The same color of his face when he thinks about her. Jessa. In the locker room showers. 

He lets his memory from _that_ night transform it into something else. His cock is already rock hard and jutting out from the dark patch of hair between his legs. It’s begging to be touched. How would Jessa touch him? He wraps his fingers carefully around the thick shaft and pumps experimentally. What would her cunt feel like if he pushed her back against the wall and hilted himself inside her pretty little _dalab_? He lets loose long enough to add a pump of soap to his palm. When he grips himself again the slickness feels so much better because, yeah, she’d be soaked for him. He’d make sure of it. By the time he’d pick her up and wrap her legs around his waist she’d be dripping. She’d be tight. His grip mimics his fantasy. So tight it nearly hurts. 

Attraction isn’t a thing that has happened often for the commando. The few times it had, there’d been something there - a mutual respect, a kindred sense of dark humor, a relationship to that person - he had to like someone before he wanted to fuck them. Sev didn’t find he liked many people and fewer of those did he ever want underneath him. 

Sev strokes slowly from base to tip, milking a drop of precum from the reddened head of his cock. He would fuck her slow against the shower wall, would take his time taking her apart. He’d be thorough and she’d be breathless and desperate for him panting his name as he slid into her. Her full breasts would be pressed against his chest, her nipples tight as moans and whimpers spilled from her full lips. 

Sev reaches his free hand up and presses hard against the scabbed cut along his throat. The sharp sting of pain makes his cock jerk in his hand as he lets his fantasy take over. Jessa buries her sweet mouth against his throat, bites and teases his skin with her teeth near the cut. It sings from the razor’s edge between pleasure and pain. Sev hisses as his hips snap into her. The point of her tongue traces along the wound as she mewls against him. His name crosses her lips as a desperate plea. 

“That’s right, Princess,” Sev groans as his hand pumps faster along the hard shaft of his cock. The building feeling blooms from the base of his spine, growing with each stroke.

His free hand would fist in Jessa’s hair, black locks tangled around his fingers. She arches against him as he pulls it. Her neck is exposed, he can see her pulse thrumming just under the skin as he buries his face at the juncture between her neck and collarbone. She begs him for release, whines at how close she is. 

The veins in Sev’s arm stick out in stark contrast as he twists his wrist just so. Her body embraces him. They fit together perfectly, tight cunt squeezing and pulsing. Her soft pleas are music to his ears each time he snaps his hips.

Sev nibbles along her collar. His teeth tease her skin and her body stiffens. He suddenly bites hard. She comes with a low desperate moan. He sucks the bite mark, unrelenting as her cunt flutters around him, milking him and begging to be filled with his seed. He was going to- mark her- for everyone-

” _Inside me Sev_ ”

With a quiet grunt Sev reaches his climax, thick ropes of cum spilling over his knuckles. His forehead comes in contact with the tiles with a hard thunk as he spends himself in a half a dozen, knee-weakening pulses.

This was no good.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You’re just learning. First time I played I ended up stabbing _myself_.” Scorch offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile in response to Jessa’s tight one. He holds up his hand and points to the scar.

“Still have a mark from it.” Inside he’s internally crowing at the third win in a row… well not a win _per se_ but not a complete dead last finish. Wal'buir always seemed to come out on top, so Scorch felt he could simply remove his training sargeant from the equation and crown himself king of _cu’bikad_.

Jessa loosens her daggers from the board and piles them neatly in front of her. _Cu’bikad_ was a different kind of game, one not generally taken to by _aruteii_. The fact that Jessa had picked up the concept so quickly was pretty incredible. He couldn’t fault her for not winning, but she seemed to fault herself. 

Walon Vau sat between the two in their small half moon, silent but with a look that let Scorch know he was watching intently. It’d been nearly a month - three weeks and four days to be precise, since their mission to Kappa Black - and Scorch was starting to forget what it was like before Jessa’s arrival. 

“Sev’ika,” Walon’s rich baritone rings across the room, “Would you care to join the next game?”

“That’s a negative, Sarge.” 

Sev had waved off playing the first few as he usually did, but Scorch had hoped he’d eventually join in. There was room for four and it felt wrong not having an even number when it was available. Four was a good number, a solid number, a pod. He shakes his head as his mind wanders to things better left alone. When he glances to his brother he finds Sev’s eyes focused on him. He offers a shrug and a grin as Sev cocks a brow. After a moment he turns back to the datapad in his hand.

Unfortunately for Scorch, his vod seemed more interested in whatever latest issue of _Blasters & Bolts_ he’d picked up in Keldabe after their visit the week before.

“Suit yourself. Will you be playing again, my dear?”

Scorch watches curiously, trying to decipher what is being said between the lines as Jessa drops her eyes. Her cheeks flush red.

“Yes, Sergeant Vau. I’d very much like to play again. Maybe this time I’ll do better.”

“I’m sure you are _quite_ capable. What do you think _ad’ika_?” A smirk plays at the corner of the old mercs mouth.

“Of course. I’m sure you’ll be beating me before you know it.”

Jessa nods quietly, her fingers toy with the daggers in front of her. Poor thing must be embarrassed. Scorch understood that. He enjoyed time playing the game with his former training Sergeant, but he also knew it was never really going to be his thing. Boss or Fixer would have excelled at it, both _vode_ had a good grasp of the big picture. They’d have seen the moves two, three, four moves ahead. Scorch often found himself slipping into a reactionary mindset. As opposed to seeing what was coming, he often found himself stuck blocking the moves his _buir_ took. Jessa was shaping up to be the same way with the hesitant way she drove the daggers into the board with each turn she made.

“No worries, eh? You already do better then Sev.” Scorch attempts to soothe the glum mood that had washed over her.

A huff of irritation floats across the room, “I’m not even playing. Leave me out of this.”

“See? The _di’kut_ can’t even bear the thought of losing to me. At least you...” The muscle in Jessa's jaw twitches. Ok, so maybe that wasn’t the right route to go.

His _buir_ barks a short laugh, “Well, I believe I’ve trounced both of you and I grow bored with no real challenge. I hope you’ll excuse me while I head off to bed.” 

At the sound of ‘bed’ Mirdalan perks it’s head up from it’s spot near the roaring fire. It stands, stretching in one long graceful motion before ambling to its master's side. 

The small _karyai_ is pleasantly warm. The rich full smell of wood smoke leaves Scorch feeling satisfied, far more than he ever had in any barracks or ship while he’d been at the service of the Grand Army. He was home and he was with his family. 

The Skirata’s were a boisterous group. Scorch could hear the laughter and madness that filled the larger _karyai_ from where he sat. While the insanity of clan Skirata was more entertaining than he could ever explain he often found himself on edge around them, the long running feud between Kal Skirata’s cadets and Vau’s own had been dead for years but the scars of it still remained. Scorch found he much preferred the far quieter laid back way his own clan spent most of their nights. Even more so now that Jessa had joined them, even if in an unofficial way.

Speaking of…

“One more, Jess’ika?”

Not for the first time, he finds himself struck silent in the wake of ocean blue eyes tilting up to meet his. It was happening more frequently. The physical attraction had been there nearly from the start. He wasn’t dead. even when she’d looked half in the grave herself he’d seen that natural beauty shining through the fear and abuse. She made him feel soft. He’d always thought soft meant bad, but around her it didn’t feel so bad at all. It was like that excitement he got before lighting off a particularly pretty charge, his finger on the button anticipating what he was about to witness, watching the sparks blossom to life and change the scenery of the world.

It was an odd situation to be in. He’d never found himself wanting someone the way he wanted the girl across from him. He had a girl in Enceri he’d burn away a few hours with every now and then, but outside of that, female company just wasn’t that important. On top of that up until very recently he’d felt that any move he’d think of making was in poor taste. She was healing and he wasn’t some _hutunn_ that would take advantage of someone at their lowest moment.

Jessa nods her head quietly before picking up a piece. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth before placing it, stabbing down sharply into the board, a little too close to his hand for comfort. He wiggles his pinky finger and brushes up against the cool blade. When he looks up he can see the mirth dancing in her eyes as she bites back a grin. Her eyes flash to the door to Wal’buirs room sliding shut and then back to him.

“You’re getting slow, old man.” She teases as he bares his teeth in a faux snarl.

“Who you callin old? Huh? I seem to remember that you are the one who’s got a few years on me.” He wedges his own piece into the board and she barely hides her jump at the sharp sound it makes.

Jessa hesitates for a moment. It’s cute that he can see the wheels in her head cranking along. Her next move takes him by surprise. It’s not the one on the board that’s only thrown down with half a thought. No, it’s the way her hand reaches across the small table and brushes at the unruly hair along his temple. He manages to hold back a shudder at the gentle play of her finger tips in his hair, just a quick graze and gone.

“I’m not the one with grey hair,” she murmurs as she pulls back.

“I may have a touch of silver, but I can keep up with the young bucks as good as anyone else.” He wonders for a moment if he's gone too far. This is another game they’ve been playing. It started a few days before they’d gone to Keldabe to gather the pucks for their next hunt.

Jessa’s cheeks are pink but she doesn’t break eye contact. “Scorch.” There’s a breathless tone to her voice and he'd give every ounce of flash training he’d ever had to hear it some more. 

“Yeah, beautiful?”

“It’s your turn.”

His eyes zip to the board between them as her dagger is jammed into the surface effectively, sending his own skittering across the worn wood. It’s only honed reflexes that let him catch it before it goes careening over the edge of the table. Huh, that was surprising. He frowns at the board, no interest in maintaining his _sabaac_ face. Hadn’t it been his move?

“I get what you’re playing at,” he chides, “using your feminine wiles to try to get a jump on me but listen-” He lazily loops the point of the dagger in her direction. “I’m not about to fall for it. I’m a tough warra nut to crack-“

“What the hutt are you yammering on about?” Sev’s unpleasant grumble interrupts his attempt at flirting.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being grumpy? Would a smile hurt?” Scorch asks his brother as the other commando looms over the table; he does a _osik_ job of hiding that he feels left out as far as Scorch is concerned. 

“Jessa is trying to use her long long lashes to get one over on yours truly. Not happening, _vod’ika_ ”

Jessa rolls her eyes and looks between the two as a yawn slips past her lips. She glances idly at the board and then to Scorch. Without much thought, he reaches across the table and flicks the thick black braid that hangs over her shoulder. Jessa’s eyes narrow as her hands run over the spot as if it’s actually hurt.

“Just for that,” another yawn filters through her lips, “I’m going to bed and you can clean up.”

“Aww but we just started having fun. The old man went to bed and now we can get crazy. Pillow fights and doing each other's hair, amiright?” He glances toward Sev. The sniper is not amused.

“If your grubby hands come anywhere near my hair I’ll break them.”

Scorch pouts, lower lip pressed out dramatically. He’s rewarded with a sweet giggle from Jessa as she pushes away from the table.

“As much fun as it sounds… I think tomorrow is going to come awfully quick and I should probably turn in. Rain check?”

“Still heading to Enceri?” It’s Sev’s deep rumble that questions what Scorch was thinking. The trip was supposed to have happened weeks ago but conflicting schedules and poor weather had snarled plans.

“I think so? It’s the plan at least. Laseema says it should be a go this time.” Jessa explains. Scorch can hear the nervous energy infused in each word she speaks. It’s understandable she hadn’t left the homestead since they’d brought her in. Her fingers toy with the loose ends of her braid reminding Scorch of what he’d wanted to give her before she left.

“I’ve got something for you. For tomorrow,” he explains. Jessa cocks her head and gives him a sweet smile.

“Something for me?”

“Is there a parrot in the room?” 

Sev chuckles.

“Yes, for you. Come on.” Scorch offers her his hand. After a moment’s thought she takes it and allows herself to be pulled to standing. He likes the way his fingers engulf all of hers, the way she’s warm and soft against the coarseness of his own hands. She is still so thin, her weight nothing more than a sack of protatoes. Scorch ets his mind drift. If he tugged a little more she’d stumble. He could catch her, wrap himself around her and feel her warmth against his chest. He could bury his nose in her hair and smell the soft girly shampoo Besany had given her. 

He laughs, shaking his head as Jessa gives him a confused smile.

“Something funny?”

“Negative, just thinking about something ridiculous.”

“Care to share with the class?” Sev looks up and Scorch is caught by his knowing look. The sniper has one of the _cu’bikad_ daggers on the board and is spinning it on its sharp point.

“I think you already know, right _vod_?”

Sev huffs out his own laugh. “Same page as always.”

Scorch nods at the information and gives the bewildered girl a shrug. “Mando _osik_ ,” he plays off, “nothing special.”

“One of these days I’m gonna know enough of your _osik_ and you’re not going to be able to leave me out anymore.”

That’s a thought that Scorch really doesn’t know what to do with. So like a good soldier given more info than he needs to complete the mission, he ignores it.

“Tell Sev’ika goodnight.” 

Jessa giggles as Scorch begins to drag her toward the short hall that housed both bedrooms.

“Are you taking me to bed?” She laughs as Scorch glances over his shoulder. She doesn’t realize what she’s said. The sweet look she’s giving him tells him as much so he reins in the innuend-laden response that sits on the tip of his tongue. It hadn’t taken long to realize, outside of her captivity, she really was an innocent creature. 

So much of the barracks banter goes over her head. He remembers the first time Sev had mentioned Ordo’s flavor preferences when it came to his life… behind closed doors. 

Poor Jess had wondered aloud what was wrong with vanilla. It was her favorite apparently. Poor Bard’ika had to leave the room and Wal’buir had shot both Sev and he (though Scorch had only spat out his shig and not actually commented) a look that had promised retribution if they didn’t behave in a way he deemed acceptable.

“Come on, _Mesh’la_ , before I decide to stop playing the good guy.”

He slows them to a stop in front of the door to his room and motions for her to wait while he slips in and grabs the folded square of fabric from where he left it at the foot of his bed earlier. When he turns back, she’s waiting in the door watching him with big curious eyes.

“So even though the Guild doesn’t run out of Enceri,” he begins, “it still manages to attract its share of bounty hunters.”

A dark look flashes in her eyes, the blues becoming clouded and far away as her hand skims over her collar and comes to rest over the brand on her neck. He’s never asked about it, but he wonders if she fought against them as they did it. Sev had to be beaten half to death before the Trandoshans had done his (he’d been much more agreeable when Scorch and Walon had helped filet it off). 

He thinks she must have, even if for vanity alone. She tries to cover it with the thick braid she’d taken to wearing. She was ashamed by it even after Wal’buir had explained how Mando’ade considered scars marks of survival, of battles won and lessons learned. It had been a real nice speech, but he didn’t think it really hit home.

Scorch had wondered then if his damage (or sev’s for that matter) was as fascinating to her as hers was to him? 

He begins unfolding the fabric in his hands, explaining as he goes. “I picked this up on Tatooine. Doing super secret commando stuff, ya know?” He jokes and watches the chilly look thaw and a smile play at the corner of her mouth.

“I can imagine.” Curiosity seems to finally get the better of her as he unfurls the fabric to its full length draped between his hands. She steps closer when beckoned. The scarf is longer than it is wide, deep forest green with a detailed pattern stitched in a shade darker. Tassels hang along the two short ends.

Jessa reaches out and hesitantly brushes her fingers along a singed hole. Her finger pokes up from the underside of the wrap and wiggles it in his direction, “commando stuff?”

“Commando stuff,” he agrees with a light shrug, “making things go boom and pop. You should ask Sev about it sometime. He tells the story better than me. Can I…?” He motions with his chin toward her head and she dutifully closes her eyes as he drapes it over her hair, wrapping first one half then the other in front of her face. As he goes he tucks the fabric around her face and under her chin, fluffing it up and loosening sections as needed. He risks a quick brush of his fingers over her brand before making sure it’s covered. Her eyes flutter open and she exhales softly.

“All covered up.” He tries to will some humor back into his voice. “Warm and cozy and not on a single bounty hunter’s shopping list.”

The tassels slide through her slender fingers as she watches them. “Thank you.”

If it wasn’t for _Kaminii_ engineered hearing he probably wouldn’t have heard her.

“No big deal, right? And when you need to, you can just flip the top down like a hood.”

She folds it down like he’d mentioned. A few random strands of hair slip from her braid. Without much thought, he slides them back behind her ear and uses two fingers to tip her chin up.

She offers him a small, sweet smile as she steps from his reach, backing towards the door, “I should…” she trails off as she points the half dozen steps to her own door. “I- thank you, Scorch.”

He nods, for once silent as he watches her slip into her room.

————-

The sun hasn’t even begun to think about rising when the, now familiar, shape of Walon Vau takes up her doorway.

“Ready?”

She is. The laces of the old worn pair of boots Parja had loaned her have just been tied. The Mandalorian, clad in head to toe black beskar nods once and steps to the side gesturing for Jessa in a manner that says “after you”.

“Thank you, Sir.” It’s early and while she knows that both Sev and Scorch likely are awake to hear their departure she also feels like she owes it to them to be quiet. She tries to mimic the almost silent, light steps of the Mandalorian behind her. 

When they reach the kitchen they are met by Laseema. Her husband Atin stands back a step, one leg crossed over the other, leaning against the large range. He stares over the rim of his ceramic mug as he takes a long pull of caf. Steam curls around his face, nearly identical to the face of Sev, Scorch and the other clones she saw on a daily basis but differentiated because of the long bisecting scar that trailed from his right eye down to the opposite side of his chin. Like a lot of things in Kyrimorut, Jessa had learned it was best not to ask. Everyone had scars, some were just more visible than others. 

Atin gives Jessa a polite smile and nod. Vau gets a short, curt, “Sarge.”

“ _Su cuy’gar,_ Atin,” Vau offers, “Laseema, I take it you're ready to go?”

The twi’lek is reviewing the contents of a datapad, rapidly flicking her finger while her lekku lazily curl and uncurl. Jessa notes the three carafes at her side and moves to place them in the pack she’d thrown over her shoulder.

“Thank you, Jess’ika.” The smile she received warms her more then the waiting carafe of caf but it’s the little _ika_ tacked onto the back of her name that really makes her heart squeeze tight. She’d been learning _Mando’a_ , picking up words here and there and those three little letters made her feel seen and cared for like she hadn’t in a long time.

Laseema turns to press her forehead to her husband’s. Jessa turns toward Vau as the former commando whispers something that leaves his wife with a wide smile.

Vau must have caught the jist of it and gives a quiet huff of a laugh.

As they make their way to the waiting speeders Jessa fumbles with the scarf she’d been gifted the night before, draping it and tying it to protect her face from the bite of the early morning wind whipping down into Kyrimorut from farther north. 

Vau turns his head as she climbs onto a waiting speeder behind Laseema. While the trip to Enceri could be made by speeder bike alone, it would make it almost twice as long and they’d be unable to tote the sheer amount of supplies needed all the way back to the homestead. They’d pickup Vau’s ship and take it into the trading post to pick up the order Laseema had placed earlier in the week. When they got home they take the rest of the day shuffling it from the airfield to the homestead’s pantry and storehouse.

Jessa swings one leg over the speeder, settling in behind Laseema and wrapping her arms around the twi’lek’s middle. She can feel Vau’s eyes following her. With his buyce in place it’s impossible to ascertain what he’s thinking. 

“Ready, Jess’ika?” Laseema’s voice carries over the wind beginning to stir up the leaves and dust around the speeders. Jessa shouts an affirmative over the sounder of the speeder spooling up and forgets about both Walon and whatever it was he was seeing.

\------

“I wish the boys had come.”

Vau raises a brow. Though he doesn’t turn his head away from the transparisteel shield, jessa can see him watching her from the corner of his eye. The cockpit of the Duke is small and there’s no way to hide from the Mandalorian’s scrutiny. She regrets the words as soon as they’ve passed her lips.

“Am I not acceptable company?”

“What-? No, I’m sorry Sargeant. I didn’t mean it to sound like-“

Walon holds a silencing hand in her direction, “ _Udesii_.”

Silence slips back into the cockpit as Jessa chews at her tongue. She hadn’t meant to offend the man who’d become, what she assumed was a put-upon benefactor. He hadn’t asked for her to be thrust into his life, but here he was housing her and clothing her and-

“You and _the boys,”_ he begins with an air of pretense that makes Jessa feel very small “seem to be getting on well.” 

There’s a knot in his imperious nose that Jessa notes not for the first time, as if someone’s broken it and it had never healed correctly. It gives a certain coarseness to his appearance that doesn’t match up with the almost aristocratic way he carries himself.

“I enjoy being around them. They make me feel…” Jessa searches for the correct word but she can’t find one that doesn’t sound silly, so she goes with the first thing she felt when she thought of Scorch and Sev Vau, “safe.”

Walon chuckles. “My dear, you are the only person I’ve ever heard say that my sons make them feel safe.”

“How should I feel?”

“Apprehensive? Concerned? On edge?” He offers the choices one after another as if they were appetizers in a fancy restaurant back home. Not since her first days strapped in the infirmary had she felt any of those around either Commando, and even then it was less for them and more for Bardan and his needles and doctoring.

“Scorch and, particularly, Sev,” he begins his explanation, “lack the _social graces_ of Kal’s brood-.”

“Sargeant Vau, we don’t need to go into it.” She interrupts. It earns her a narrowed look and a sharp tone. She wasn’t sure what direction this conversation was heading but she was almost certain she was not prepared, not ready to deal with it.

“Don’t interrupt me. Also, I very much do believe we need to go into this. Neither Sev nor Scorch cater to anyone except one another and even that, I fear at times, is a habit bred from a childhood of conditioning to watch out for their pod.”

Walon Vau turns the full intensity of his unblinking gaze on her and Jessa has to fight the urge to avert her eyes.

“Sev doesn’t do well with most people, clone or otherwise. Scorch would happily watch _aruteii_ burn as opposed to assist them in anyway.” Jessa’s fingers twist in the fabric of her scarf. She can’t imagine Scorch as anything but the overly eager, helpful man she’d known from the start and , yes, Sev was _different_ but there was nothing wrong with that- 

Vau’s head cocks to the side and Jessa can’t help but feel as if she was being assessed for some flaw or looked at as some anomaly. “They look out for you, don’t they? Why do you think that is?” 

For the first time the weight of the commando's actions begin to settle over her. 

“Do you feel Sev’s eyes follow you while you do chores? Do you wake when Scorch checks in on you at night, when he tucks the blankets around you so you won’t get cold?”

“I-“ 

“You don’t see it?” The skepticism melts from his voice as he speaks, “you really don’t…”

Jessa shakes her head as turbulence rattles the _Duke_. She leans hard on the copilot's seat and Vau quickly begins adjusting controls, attempting to bring the Duke above the thermals wreaking havoc on the smooth ride. Laseema calls up from where she’s been prepping the hold. Jessa half listens to Vau’s easy reassurances to her that they’d be past it in a moment. He curses a light “ _Fek_ ” as the ship pulls hard to the left. 

“Maybe it’s best to strap in Las’ika,” he amends

Jessa gives up her attempts to stand and sinks down into the copilot's seat and straps in as the jarring worsens. Vau does the same, his eyes focusing on the scene ahead of him. Jessa plays with the ends of the green scarf tied around her neck, worrying it between her fingers until she finds the singed hole. 

“Commando stuff,” she mutters to herself absently as she pulls her legs up. It reminds her of her escape from Kappa Black in the storage compartment. The rocking and jarring, being tossed around against durasteel walls, of panicking and scratching at the locked hatch…

She leans her head against her knees and brings the scarf to her face. Her fingers continue to rub against the light wool as she inhales Scorch’s warm scent embedded in the fabric, cedar and explosives she couldn’t begin to know how to name. Both solid and destructive all at the same time. She focuses on her breathing, slow and steady until her head begins to slow.

The _Duke_ settles back into the smooth ride she’d hoped it would be. Vau calls down to Laseema to check her status and she, though slightly shaken, confirms she’s good. 

“Right as rain Sargeant”.

Jessa doesn’t catch Vau’s glance again, too lost in her thoughts. She misses the careful way he watches from the corner of his eye as she looks to her scarf for comfort, since the wearer who usually gave it wasn’t here.

He doesn’t say anything, do anything to interrupt her until Enceri blooms on the horizon. Jessa watches the trading post grow as the forest begins to thin, to the north the thin line of mountains seems to shelter the post from the worst of the winds. It’s far more… rustic than Jessa had thought it would be. As Vau brings the _Duke_ in for landing she tries to count the log building surrounding the primitive port. She loses count after two dozen.

“It’s not Keldabe, but it serves its purpose.” 

Jessa looks up as the ship lands with a soft jolt. 

“My dear, do find a use for yourself and start shutting down those systems.” Vau motions idly to a control panel in front of her and Jessa scrambles to unlock her buckles and toggle the systems into standby one by one. Thankfully it’s as simple as going for the on position to off and requires no training or actual direction because she gets none from the ship’s owner.

The process takes a few minutes and by the time it’s finished Laseema has joined them in the cockpit.

Her color is off, paler than usual, and her lekku flick at her shoulders. Jessa wonders if maybe they didn’t share a general dislike for turbulence. Laseema offers her a tight smile and it’s all the confirmation Jessa needs.

“If we could not repeat that on the way home...”

“Noted.” Vau response is clipped and Jessa can’t help but wonder if it’s something she did or didn’t do. 

After locking down the ship the trio makes their way to the ramp and into the crisp, pine scented air. Vau’s _buyce_ turns in a slow scan of the traders and citizens milling about. Jessa takes a step to follow Laseema as the twi’lek begins to disembark, but is stopped short by a firm hand on her shoulder. Vau pulls it back as she turns to face him. 

“I’m giving you this with the expectation that you find yourself appropriate attire.” He hands her a small coarse satchel. Jessa takes it and quickly tucks it into her pocket.

“I’ll find a way to pay-“ 

Per his usual, Vau is interrupting her before she can finish. “It’s a gift. I won’t hear you speak of reimbursement again, _lek_?”

“Yes sir.” It’s a dutiful response, like one given by a scolded child. 

“Good.”

Laseema makes a sound from below the pair and Vau looks past Jessa and to the other woman. 

“Winter gear, boots, pants, shirts, a good pair of gloves. Whatever else a young lady may need. You know the drill.”

Irritation radiates from the twi’lek woman as she pops a half-assed salute. “Affirmative Sargeant!” 

Jessa stifles a laugh as black beskar brushes by her without another word. Laseema manages to hold her laughter until the old mercenary was turning a corner and - hopefully - out of earshot.

——-

Enceri was a small trading post but, much like Kyrimorut, it still somehow managed to be a confusing warren road and alleys. 

The last great Mandalorian outpost in the north had, at one time, been no larger than a cantina, stockyard, and store. As Laseema explained, it had grown over the last few hundred years. Jessa feels like her head is on a constant swivel. It’s been ages since she’s seen so many people. Laseema leads her down a cart-lined side street with a smattering of vendors hocking their wares toward a shop who’s signage must have once touted its name but had grown so faded with time that only a few letters are recognizable. 

Laseema must note her apprehension because a light laugh works its way up from her chest as she loops her arm into Jessa’s. One of her lekku tickles at Jessa’s cheek as she leans close.

“Trust me, outside of Keldabe, Beviin’s is the best place you can go for what we need.”

As with most things, Laseema is not wrong. The heavy wooden doors of Beviin’s Outfitters hide an overwhelmingly stocked store within. Shelves cover every wall, reaching from floor to ceiling. Racks of boots line one end of the store while the other side seems to be dedicated to coats and other such outerwear. The earthy smell of woodsmoke fills the room from a large stone fireplace taking up the far wall. There are warm wooden benches placed around it. A few are occupied by Mandalorians in various states of armament chatting. It’s like nothing Jessa has ever seen before.

“What did Walon give you to work with?”

The question has Jessa quickly digging into her pocket and producing the pouch of credits. Laseema takes in and pulls the strings open. Her eyes instantly go wide in a way that makes Jessa’s heart beat hard in her chest.

“Is something wrong?”

“Oh, _cyar’ika_! There is not one thing wrong. The old _chakaar_ must be fond of you. Has he adopted you and just not told anyone?”

Jessa pulls the pouch back and looks in. She’d never been allowed credits of her own. Even with that said she recognizes an obscene amount when she sees it.

“I… what… I mean?”

The blue twi’lek’s grin splits her face as one arm circles around Jessa’s tensed shoulders. 

“Let’s just go with it, shall we?”

Jessa’s parents had been well to do, coveting the small bit of power and authority the priesthood and Goddess had seen fit to give them. From her earliest memory Jessa remembers being primped - dressed in frills and ruffles, lace and satin. Her nursemaid, Ma’duo, would take her to the rows of stores and shops for a new wardrobe each season. Sometimes Jessa’s mother would accompany them if she were feeling particularly bored or maternal - which happened fewer times than Jessa could count on both hands.

Ma’duo would instruct the women and men inside on how Jessa was to look based off the strict guidelines her Father set forth. Jessa didn’t have a say in the pink and purple chiffons or the white stockings and shoes so tight they pinched her toes and made her walk in small careful steps. If she complained, she was scolded for being ungrateful and disrespecting the goddess - dishonoring her parents. 

She hadn’t liked the itchy fabrics or the tight coats and undergarments they pressed her into. She hadn’t like the pastel pinks and purples that reminded her of saccharine sweet confections. She merely bore the burden and the weight of the expectations placed upon her she was to be dutiful with every move. She was to present herself like the treasure she’d been proclaimed to be. She’d learned to hold her complaints and opinions, to begrudgingly accept the gilded cage she’d been born into.

She’d never been allowed to make a choice. She’s never been allowed to hold credits. And now she had more than she’d ever seen in one place at one time and it was hers to spend as she chose on what she wanted.

Laseema’s brows furrowed as she watches the play of emotions on her friend's face. Jessa can’t help the tightness in her chest that spills over to her features. 

“Ladies, can I be of assistance.” 

Saved from having to explain, Jessa turns a weak smile on the thin-faced, severe looking woman that appeared silently at their side. 

“Ma Beviin,” Laseema greets, “we need a little help getting our vod here appropriately clothed for the winter.”

Jessa’s spine stiffens. The woman’s thin bird-like nose dips as she looks her over from the worn boots and threadbare pants to the shirt, obviously meant for the sturdier sex.

“I do say so.” She turns on her heels already beginning to move toward the rows of shoes and boots. Laseema offers The younger woman a reassuring smile as they move to fall into step with the older Mandalorian. 

“You’ve come to the right place my dear.” The woman glances over her shoulder before turning back and barking toward a young girl in the corner folding a pile of shirts into a neat stack. The Mando’a goes over Jessa’s head as it so often did. 

“She’s getting some tea put on. Says this will take awhile,” Laseema translates. It eases some of the tension but not nearly enough. Jessa picks up her pace as the Mandalorian clears her throat.

Boots are first and, if she’s being honest, she never realized how overwhelming it would be to choose a pair. What kind of leather did she want, nerf or bantha? Did they offer ankle support? Would they be water tight? Did she want something more suited to winter or year round?

With each question she found herself missing Ma’duos voice piping up for her… until she tried the first pair on.

“These are amazing.” She nearly purrs as she wiggles her toes and takes a step. Her toes are able to spread out as she takes full steps. Nothing hurts and her feet are toasty and happy.

“ _Ad’ika_ , if you think those are nice wait til you try these.” Ma Beviin offers with a knowing smirk barely cracking her stone facade. Jessa dutifully tries on the next pair and the next before finally settling on the first. The deep rich mahogany of the nerf leather nearly glows in the lowlights of the outfitters. Laseema encourages her to get a pair of simple flats for around the karyai.

Ma Beviin pours tea for the trio as thick wool socks are added to the pile. The older woman whistles sharply and the younger girl from earlier retrieves the box of boots and socks and hurries them away.

“How is life in Kyrimorut?” Ma Beviin asks casually, with all the barely restrained curiosity of a society gossip.

Jessa takes a moment to study the woman over the rim of her tea cup. She’d found quickly that Mandalorians were a far hardier, far more pragmatic people then she’d ever known. Issues of wrong and right became very muddled as Mandalorians didn’t see black or white, only variations of grey - the shade of which best suited _Mandalor_ and the clan being the most appropriate. It was always a pleasant experience to see those little quirks of something she’d known growing up peeking through.

“Well,” Laseema begins conspiratorially, “Skirata’s going to be a _ba’buir_ again.”

Ma Beviin turns her sharp eyes to Jessa who shakes her head rapidly dispelling whatever thoughts the woman was harboring. Laseema’s laugh rings like bells.

“This one is Vau’s charge.” 

It is both the right answer and the wrong. Ma Beviin’s eyes stop flitting to the girls stomach. Suddenly her face is of far more interest and she gazes at Jessa with a newfound curiosity.

“So you don’t say…”

“I’d be surprised if he hasn’t made it official by _Munit Ca_.”

Ma Beviin laughs. It’s a sound that seems seldom used and foreign to the woman, barked out and rough. “The old _dinii_ has gone soft.” She points a gnarled finger at Laseema. “You can tell him I said that too.”

“With pleasure.” The women both chuckle and ignore Jessa’s red stained cheeks.

Ma becomes more human after that. Still stern and with an air of authority that was borderline terrifying but now in a gentler sort of way. Very Mando. They finish their tea and then it’s time for pants. Laseema guides her toward three pairs of a sturdy work style and another two of thick warm leggings. Ma seems to approve and sits back watching as Jessa runs her hand over the growing stack.

Next they move on to shirts; lightweight undershirts, thermals, and simple pullovers. Ma guides her over to a tidy stack of sweaters in rich earthy colors.

“I knit them myself,” she explains, as Jessa’s fingers explore the cabling and intricate patterns woven into the sweater. “I think three would do well for you. Add some color to your life.”

Laseema smiles encouragingly. The first one she picks is a rich charcoal grey with a high loose collar that Jessa nestles into immediately upon trying it on. She expects to feel itchy with the thick yarn so high on her neck, but instead she feels warm and cozy. It takes every bit of her will to peel it back off. 

“What about this one, child?” Ma holds up a rich burnt orange one next, it’s knit is looser and the collar large, hanging low on one end.

“It’s a sweater meant more for wear within the home than out.” 

Jessa likes the oversized feel of it, and the way it hangs low on one shoulder.

“How did you learn to make these?” Curiosity gets the better of her as she pulls it back over her head and adds it to the pile. The burnt orange reminds her of the leaves blowing around Kyrimorut… of a place she hoped could remain her home.

“My Mother taught me and her grandmother before that taught her. It’s a chain that stretches generation upon generation, to a time that reaches back to when the great mythosaur roamed the wilds.”

It all sounds very epic. Jessa can’t help but feel the suffocating tendrils of jealousy creeping around her heart. Lineage - a strong family line - was something she could claim. A family history borne of anything more than titles and names was not. She had no sweet memories of carefully cultivated traditions or skills. She had no tender memories of her mother or father. She tamps back the ugly little monster coiled within that impatiently seeks to find the way to lash out at the perceived injustice she’d been dealt.

“May I try the red one?” The orange sweater is pulled over her head. Jessa takes the time to carefully fold and place the garment into the keep pile using the soft fabric as a distraction from the ugly thoughts.

“Of course. Of course. You’re paying my bills for the week with this little trip. You can see whatever suits your fancy.”

Laseema sits back quietly in an overstuffed chair. She offers a knowing smile and Jessa quickly turns away taking the deep crimson sweater Ma Beviin’s offers.

“Well, you do have a stunning shape under all those formless clothes don’t you?” Ma seems to take a moment to appreciate the fit as Jessa pulls at the hem and adjusts it. “Turn a bit for me girl… yes… yes” the older woman hums. “I do believe it was meant for her, don’t you Laseema?”

“Look in the mirror.” Laseema encourages. Jessa’s turns to the mirror, one of only a few in the shop (apparently Mando were not a self conscious bunch). The sweater really does fit perfectly, clinging gently to the dip of her waist and the soft curves of her chest that had begun to blossom again as she’d begun to gain weight back. The collar is high and the soft wool rests under her chin. Jessa smooths her hands over the fabric turning this way and that.

“This one too, you think?”

Ma chuckles, “I’d think you a fool if you didn’t get it.” 

Laseema nods agreeably.

“Some cute underthings and I think you’ll be all set.”

Jessa ducks her chin as the women chuckle.

——-

Laseema watches Jessa from the corner of her eye as the pair slowly makes their way from Beviin’s. For a woman into her early twenties, Laseema found it both amusing and endearing of how innocent her new _vod’ika_ was. Ma Beviin - ever the gossip monger - had done her best to try to dig something juicy from her, much to poor Jessa’s chagrin. It was a wonder her cheeks hadn’t stained, as red as they’d been while Ma had chosen some particularly delectable undergarments for the girl.

“ _I’m sure you’ve found a suitable partner among all those proper Mando boys Skirata has. Maybe you’d like something equally suitable to wear_?”

It had taken a moment for Jessa to realize what the Mandalorian woman was insinuating as she pointed out different underwear in lace and satin. Once she had, her tongue had grown fat and words seemed to become stuck in her mouth. 

“Or maybe one of Walon’s _ad’ike_?” Ma had questioned with growing glee at the young woman’s discomfort. Laseema had intervened on her behalf then. The twi’lek had quickly steered the conversation in a different direction, much to Ma’s obvious displeasure. Still, Jessa did end up with some enviously pretty sets of underclothes to go along with the more plain utilitarian pieces. They were a practical bunch, but even Mando women enjoyed the occasional luxury and Jessa, Laseema had pointed out, deserved something that made her feel good as much as the next person.

Now, with her credits substantially lighter and distance growing between Ma Beviin’s, Jessa seemed to relax back into the woman Laseema was used to sharing the better part of her day with.

They all but flit through the rest of their errands with Laseema only making minor adjustments to her order at the mercantile before paying for the pallets of dry goods and supplies that would be delivered to the Duke and loaded. Jessa’s new wardrobe would be deposited in the same way. With hands free and tasks completed, Laseema leads her friend down the town’s main lane. They stop in front of the bakery to drool over the sweets being placed on trays behind the transparisteel. There’s the typical golden brown uj drizzled delights but there’s others as well. Layered flaky pastries, chewy bars filled with dried fruit, and cookies of all shapes and sizes fill the display. The scent of caramelized sugar and butter float from the nearby door.

“Do you think Sev or Scorch would-”

“Like a pretty girl to bring them baked goods?” Laseema finishes. Jessa shrugs lightly, toeing her new boot into the dry dirt in a way that’s all too endearing. “Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea.”

Jessa smiles to herself and nods, obviously delighted with a well-received idea. 

Laseema wonders what the girl is thinking as she tucks a loose strand of hair back into the scarf she wore. It was Scorch’s. She’d know it anywhere. And the leather sheath she had strapped to her ankle, the one she’d seen as Jessa had tried on different clothes? Sev’s. Did she realize they were quietly laying a claim? The even more important question, she wonders, was did they?

Kal Skirata’s boys were more Mando than most clones. Those trained by other Mandalorians like Rav or Walon tended to be blind to some of the more delicate parts of their adopted culture. After he’d joined Omega and been adopted by the scrappy old merc, Atin had allowed Skirata and his new pod to bring him up to speed about what a barve like Walon Vau hadn’t taught him.

On Coruscant, and the entirety of the inner rim for that matter, courting was flowers and finery, empty promises and grand gestures. Mandalorians had no time or need for any such thing. A gift of self from a suitor - a weapon, a piece of armor… a scarf to hide a particularly noxious scar - those were seen as the beginning to any acceptable Mandalorian courtship. To offer a potential partner something to protect themselves was a subtle gesture both pragmatic and wildly romantic to those in the know.

Did Sev or Scorch have half a clue what they’d done? There was sure to be a betting pool before the week was out. Corr and Atin (much to Laseema’s displeasure) had already been bandying about large sums of credits.

“We’ll get a drink while we wait for Vau and stop through the bakery on the way back.”

Walon had not made it clear what he needed to do in Enceri but he’d made the timeline blasterproof. It wasn’t her business and she trusted the old mercenary to know that if it was important she’d be made aware.

The lone cantina in town had no name. Laseema was unsure if it ever had, or if the lack of moniker was a more recent occurrence. No one could really tell her and she’d yet to meet someone that referred to it as anything other than the cantina.

Much like Beviin’s, the cantina held a rustic charm, outfitted like a great hunting lodge with the heads of large beasts on the wall and over the large stone fireplace that kept the place warm and smelling pleasantly of woodsmoke.

Heads turn as the pair enter. Laseema nods in greeting to a few familiar faces. Full beskar’gam gleams up and down the bar interspersed with those partially kitted and those not at all. It was a solid meeting place. With Imperial activity already more than a whisper in Keldabe it was important to have places like this where Mando’ade could meet without arousing suspicions. Jessa tugs her scarf from over her hair and tucks it under her braid and close to her neck. Curious looks are cast. Mando had good memories and the slight woman at her side was a new face. For better or worse, it brought attention. 

They head toward a lone table near the fire and Laseema orders two bottles of _Ne’tra gal._

As they relax into their chairs, Jessa sips politely at her ale. Laseema’s not sure she’s ever seen her finish and entire bottle and it doesn’t look like now will be the day she does.

“Laseema Skirata?”

Laseema recognizes the voice immediately, standing to greet the newcomer. She offers her arm and receives the firm grip and shake to her forearm in greeting. He grins and sharp blue eyes glance curiously toward Jessa. Laseema attempts an introduction.

“Jess’ika, this the Ma-“

“Fenn Shysa, at your service.”

——

To say Jessa is charmed is an understatement. Laseema’s acquaintance is a delight to speak with. Courteous and with an adequate amount of manners to make her feel like she was almost in a world she knew.

Fenn, with his dusty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes was witty without crossing the line into crass and warm in a way that made her feel comfortable with his company almost instantly.

“So why is it,” he begins, taking a firm pull off his second ale since sitting, “that a _shabuir_ like old Kal Skirata can hoard all the most beautiful women on Mandalore to himself?”

Laseema rolls her eyes, glancing into her now empty bottle and frowning. “ _Old Kal_ isn’t hoarding them,” she begins, fighting a smile, “it’s his sons”

Fenn barks out a laugh, slapping his knee and turning toward Jessa, “That’s what I mean! Pretty and with a sense of humor. Spine of steel to put up with that Skirata bunch. And what about you, eh?”

“About me? Afraid I don’t follow,” she offers. There’s something behind those blues, an intellect maybe, that he’s working to keep at bay while he digs for information.

“Which son of Kal’buir has stolen you from the pool of eligible _Mando’ade_.”

A drink of _Ne’tra gal_ allows her time to figure out a deflection. “I-“

“The little _vod’ika_ is under Walon’s care.” Laseema’s lek twitch and twist playfully. She’s offered just enough of a juicy tidbit to have Fenn raising a brow. “His boys picked her up in a milk run.”

“Very interesting.” 

Jessa feels his gaze linger as she glances toward the door and takes another sip of her rapidly warming drink. She’s not sure why she should feel bashful about the fact that Walon Vau had taken her in, but something about the way Laseema says it and Shysa’s reaction has her feeling suddenly shy.

“So aruetii then? I suppose we all have our flaws,” he jokes amicably. “Has the old _chakaar_ taught you _cubikad_ yet? From what I remember he’s quite a master of it.”

“I’m not good,” she admits cautiously, “but I know enough to get through a slow game or two.” 

Fenn gives her an odd look, head cocked to the side, eyes squinting. He straightens and chuckles after a moment. “Wanna show an old man whatcha got?”

“I-“

Laseema clears her throat, “I’m going to get another drink. Would you like one Fenn?”

The older man waves her off, “one for the _dal’ika_ maybe?” 

Jessa shakes her head as Laseema flashes her a smile before heading to the bar. “One and done for me.”

“Smart little nuna, lots of strill in the coop.” Fenn leans across the table and Jessa freezes as he adjusts the scarf around her neck, pulling it up and patting it into place with calloused hands. “Can’t be too careful can we?”

The first game goes slowly. Fenn Shysa played much like Vau did, aggressive and fast. It takes a lot for Jessa to keep herself from just giving into the game play and throwing moves. It was hard to purposely hold herself back and entirely too frustrating to put moves down that she knew would lead her nowhere. She needed to do the correct thing. She wanted to be liked. The teachings of her nursemaid come back like she’d just heard them from the older woman’s mouth yesterday.

Fenn frowns as the game comes to an abrupt end. Jessa recognizes it as the face of a disappointed parent. She’s uncomfortably familiar with it. The light chatter he’d begun the game with had slowly petered out as it had progressed. Jessa’s brows furrow. He’d won. He should be smiling, maybe smug, but he wasn’t. He gives the board a studious look and then his eyes slowly travel up and lock with her. She feels like she’s in trouble almost instantly as he begins to slowly move the daggers from the board and place hers to one side and his own on the other.

“I wasn’t lying when I said Kyrimorut had some of the most beautiful women on Mandalore. Were I the type to settle down it would be my first stop - likely my last after the Skirata men got a hold of me for trying to steal their missus.” He flashes a quick grin that Jessa nervously returns. “But beauty is temporary. It fades. It doesn’t protect a family. It doesn’t raise _verd’ika_. It doesn’t entertain into the long dark nights of winter.” He stops and finishes his ale before beginning again. “Beauty isn’t just in the way the maker decided to place your features on your head. It’s up here too.” He taps a finger to his temple.

“If a man - Mandolorian or _Auretii_ \- cannot handle the intellect of the women around him, he is nothing more than a _di’kut. Kaysh mirsh solus_.” Jessa nods at the unfamiliar phrase. It’s easy enough to get the general idea. Her eyes dip before Fenn clears his throat and they’re drawn back up. “Do you see what I’m gettin’ at?”

Jessa nods again, chastened.

The sudden seriousness seems to disappear and a smile spreads back across his face. “Good! So we can play again and you can show me what you’ve really got.” He motions to the board. “Ladies first”.

By the time Walon arrives, they’re four games deep and tied for wins and losses. Both have cuts and blood on their hands. Jessa has a smile she can’t get rid of.

\-------

The fire crackles lightly in the background, a log that hasn’t been properly seasoned pops here and there as the too-wet sap explodes within. Mirdalan curls up around its master’s feet as the old merc sits among his peers.

It was a long day, but successful. He’d completed his business, the storerooms were full, and the girl wasn’t running around in has _ad’ike’s_ clothing anymore. 

Though as he assesses the situation he’s not entirely sure that is a good thing.

Jessa sits near the fire legs curled beneath her as Ordo’s boys chatter at her. Kad leans back against her thigh playing with his sad, singed stuffed nerf.

She looks relaxed with her hair down and a soft smile on her face, her fingers occasionally dipping to push a few strands of errant black hair from Kad’s eyes. He’s not the only one who’s noticed the difference. Sev has himself positioned in an overstuffed chair nearby. He’s sharpening a pair of knives and speaking with Fi, but Walon doesn't miss the way he monitors Jessa’s every move. He’s trained the boy well. If he hadn’t, he doubts he would notice the focus he’s placed on her. 

At his side in a matching chair, Scorch is less cautious. The demolitions expert openly watches the girl. He has since dinner when she’d come to the table in the loose orange sweater she wore. She looked like a woman now and Walon can’t fault him for his appreciation, but he wonders if he should have taught him some tact.

Jessa is oblivious and happy. Begrudgingly, he wonders if he should thank the _Mandalor_. When he’d arrived, on time as always, he’d had to hide his shock seeing Fenn Shysa sitting with Jessa, Laseema sitting at the table just behind them chatting with a few other _Mando’ade_. Jessa had been clutching her hand to her chest, a fresh cloth wrapped around it and laughing. Laughing! It was a beautiful sound, full and vibrant. Her smile had been just as wide. 

“Wicked tactician, your _ad’ika,_ ” Fenn had laughed, dabbing at a cut along his thumb. “We lost another one to Kyrimorut.”

“So it would seem, _Mandalor_ ”

It was worth it to see the sheepish expression on Shysa’s easygoing face when Jessa had inhaled sharply. Apparently the old barve hadn’t introduced himself properly.

“She’s good with the younglings.” Across from him Kal makes his presence known.

Walon grunts in acknowledgement as Bardan comes to collect Kad for bed. Jessa nuzzles the toddler when he throws his arms around her before his caregiver scoops him up. Jessa catches his eye and offers a small smile. Walon nods as she rises and makes her way toward the kitchen. For a moment it looks like Sev may follow but the opportunity is lost as Fi continues to talk to the stoic commando.

“She’d make a good-“

Walon had grown to appreciate certain aspects of Kal Skirata’s personality over the years. Through the Clone Wars his certain brand of undogged determination had paid off in dividends that saw their _ad’ike_ thrive and get to live lives they otherwise would have been denied them. Over the years he’d also learned to tune out the manipulative, single-minded micromanaging _osik_ the other merc tended to favor. Times like this. 

“If you think I’m going to bite, you're sorely mistaken,” Walon interrupts, “my boys do not need me to make an appropriate match, nor does the dear girl need to be looked at as the next broodmare for _either_ clan.”

Kal grins behind his glass. “So you have thought of it.”

_Sha’buir_.

“Enough.” Walon feels very much like a long suffering spouse, completely over it but too far in to actually make an escape. “Please let me enjoy my nightcap in peace.”

Skirata’s grin does not vanish but he does shut up. The quiet draws out comfortably between the pair and Walon allows his eyes to drift to the fire, then to his sons. He doesn’t know if it’s love, not being entirely sure or comfortable with what that emotion entailed, but he feels exceptionally fond of the pair - and remarkably sad for the ones not there. Had his father ever felt that way about him? Proud yet unable to say it? He doubts the Duke’s black heart cared for much more outside its own black sinew.

“Wal’buir?” 

He startles, knee hitting the table with a jolt that wakes Mirdalan. The strill grumbles from its spot on the floor. It’s quite embarrassing but that is quickly pushed to the side as he realizes how he’d been addressed. It wasn’t lost on Skirata either.

“Jess’ika,” Kal begins, “it’s not polite to startle an old man.”

“Do shut up,” Walon grumbles before turning his attention back to the woman setting down a small tray in front of him. He raises a brow in question as she sets a cup first in front of him then the other mercenary.

“I- since I’m unable to repay your kindness in credits I thought maybe you’d like some tea?”

“ _Shig_ ” he offers the translation as an afterthought but he can see her small nod, can almost see her committing it to memory. 

He watches as she works with steady hands mixing whatever concoction into the two mugs, before mixing and straining the leaves and whatever else she’d added, then adding cream and sugar. The smell of spice hits his nose immediately when he takes the offered mug. Across from him Skirata hums appreciatively.

“My nurse-maid used to call it cure-all tea. It makes everything better.” She offers the last bit up softly. There’s a nervous tilt to her shoulders, an expectant look in her eyes while he sips.

It’s rich and creamy. The mix of spices warms his belly. It reminds him of home and of childhood, only slightly different then the blend used on Irmenu. He nods his appreciation and patently ignores Kal’s pointed look.

“In _Mando’a_ we’d call it _hetikles shig_ ”

“Spiced tea,” Kal translates unnecessarily. “And it is much appreciated.”

Jessa turns and offers a small smile to Skirata but her attention doesn’t leave Vau for long. It’s a nice feeling being the center of attention, instead of the afterthought or worse - the interloper. while he doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the silly feeling, he accepts it for what it is.

“Thank you.” 

She beams happily as she opens a small box she’d brought along and puts a small pastry in front of him alone. That same fondness he’d felt for his commandos earlier returns as he stares at the flaky layers of dough, uj syrup, and nuts in front of him but not his companion.

“My apologies Sargeant Skirata-“ she begins before she’s waved off. 

“You are fine. I’m sure I don’t need it.”

“Need what?” Scorch’s bright voice asks before his head is peeking over Jessa’s. His chin comes to rest on her bare shoulder and the slight fluttering of her lashes does not go unnoticed.

“I brought treats. For Wal’buir and you and Sev.” There again that nervous lilt as if she was expecting to have her knuckles rapped with a ruler at any second for overstepping.

“I like treats.”

Like a tooka to nip, Sev appears. The promise of food seemed to coax even the most reclusive of clones out of their solitude. Sev is no different.

“Are those warra nuts…” Scorch asks, easing

the box from Jessa’s hands before she has a chance to pull it back.

“I love warra nuts”

“Your stomach certainly doesn’t.”

Scorch clutches the box out of Sev’s reach while slight Jessa looks on indignantly. “Hey! Did I say you could take that?!” 

She is the least intimidating creature Walon has ever seen, with her hands on her hips like she was truly offended by Scorch’s pilfering hands.

“Excuse them my dear. They’ve forgotten their manners.”

“Exactly when did that lesson occur _buir_? My memory’s a little hazy - was it before or after the trench of rotting nerf guts?” Scorch asks.

“Ah, The Sickener. Good memories.” Sev reminisces before the old merc has a chance to speak. “It was after. you were too busy spilling morning rations all over the aiwha bait’s pristine floor to notice.”

Scorch looks amused, “So what’s your excuse, psycho?”

“Transdoshans.”

Jessa watches the interactions as Scorch shrugs as if the answer made all the sense in the world. He lifts a pastry from the box before begrudgingly handing it to Sev who readily digs for the one remaining.

Scorch chews happily, eyes narrowing on Jessa’s hands for the first time. 

“What happened to you? Didn’t realize clothes shopping was so brutal.”

Walon can hear the underlying tension in the easy way the commando jokes. 

“Jess’ika found her footing in a few games of _cu’bikad_ today. Isn’t that right?”

The girl offers him a nervous smile, her fingers grip the bottom hem of her sweater as she looks back to Scorch. 

Sev’s head cocks. “Who’d you know in Enceri?”

Again, Walon is sure he missed a lesson about tact somewhere with his ad’ike as he watches the calculating way Sev assesses the cuts along the girls knuckles and the one at the hinge of her right wrist.

“The _Mandalor_ is the best of teachers. I can assure you.” All three mens eyes travel from him to Jessa in a moment that can only be considered comical.

“That’s it,” Scorch is the first to speak, “I want a rematch. Now.” Jessa laughs as the tension breaks. Sev follows quietly behind as his brother takes her hand and begins pulling her toward their karyai. Jessa glances back over her shoulder.

“It’s ok _ad’ika_. I’m capable of cleaning up after myself.”

Skirata chuckles.

Fenn Shysa’s whispered jab from earlier echoes in Walon’s head.

“ _Didn’t anyone ever explain you were supposed to adopt them young_?”


	7. Chapter 7

It’s a crisp morning. Frost paints the dead, dried grasses lining the wide path from home to animals pens. It’s quiet, Jessa thinks, so unbearably still and serene that it looks like it may be a backdrop painted and not any sort of real world she’s walking through. Her breath comes out in small clouds of fog. She puffs happily, lost in a childlike game no one is out to interrupt. The quiet isn’t broken until she skirts the corner and the nunas catch wind of her. 

They cackle and squawk, creating a merry racket that brings the roba to their fence grunting in turn for attention.

“I’ve got nothing for you this morning,” she tells the larger beasts, knowing that won’t dissuade them. 

Taking a mug from her basket and scattering the contents, scratch and leftover bread crumbs, over the frozen ground, Jessa enters into the pen. The nunas remain distracted, the scratch acting to keep the nosy creatures out from underfoot as she raids their nests. 

With the ever-shortening days and cooler temperatures there aren’t nearly as many eggs as there once were, but she’s still able to get a dozen and a half - enough for breakfast if some of the men decided to sleep in. Laseema had begun the process of adding some eggs she’d stockpiled into the daily rotation. Frozen eggs were not particularly loved but mixed with fresh it was hardly noticed. 

The constant preparation for life in Kyrimorut fascinated Jessa. There was always the next thing to be planned for - be it the cold, dark months, an incoming baby, a hunt or a festival. There was always something that needed tending or mending. There was always something else to think about and the work was never done. Instead of feeling overwhelming, or feeling exhausted, Jessa found herself enjoying the feeling of accomplishment that came with each task and looking forward to the ones to come. It felt like purpose and she’d been lacking in purpose - merely surviving - for far too long. 

The coop door squeaks loudly on its hinges as she closes it up, nudging a pair of persistent nunas back from the frame with the toe of her boot before locking it. The basket dangles with its familiar weight from her forearm as she turns back toward the… she thinks for a moment on the correct word. The _yaim_. She was making a concentrated effort when it came to her Mando’a. She felt she should be further progressed but Scorch said she was doing fine and Sev didn’t argue with him on that point. It was a good sign. 

Speaking of Sev, she can feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. He’d done the night watch and she can feel his eyes following her as she walks. There most certainly should be fear trickling through her veins knowing she’s being watched through the scope of the sharpshooter’s favorite blaster rifle, but it never comes. Instead it’s reassuring, almost as if he was walking next to her with his fingers twined in her own. 

The image stops her short and she feels her cheeks flush, this time not from the bite of the cool morning breeze. Sev wouldn’t be the hand holder - that would be his brother and she shouldn’t be thinking about either. 

Since her trip to Enceri and her conversation with the Walon Vau, she’s had a hard time letting the thought go away completely. There was a young naive girl left in her somewhere and late at night she liked to play out scenarios all young girls did. It was supremely embarrassing - and highly inappropriate. Jessa can only image what the Sergeant would have to say on the matter. It’s been months, not years and decades like others in Kyrimorut can claim, but Jessa knows enough to understand that Walon Vau did not endure flights of fancy.

Still, the thought of Sev’s hand low on her back leading her through a crowd or of Scorch spinning her around a dance floor like the one in her parents great hall just seem to flit into and out of her mind like the tiny birds that would swoop into the roba pen to steal a snack and then away into breeze before the lumbering animals were the wiser.

With a shake of the head and a quick glance around - Sev wasn’t going to let himself be seen unless he was well and ready for it - Jessa heads in the door directly off the kitchen. The change in temperature is instant and as welcome as the smell of breakfast being prepared or the sound of early morning voices hitting her.

Parja and Laseema are working at opposite ends of the kitchen. Parja has a pot of grains thickening over the small fire in the hearth, while Laseema simultaneously tends to a skillet of bacon and loaves of bread pulled fresh from the industrial oven. The play of primitive and modern, industrial and homestead should be at odds, but Jessa finds that in Kyrimorut they work together seamlessly.

“Jes’ika? Go ahead and start cracking those into that bowl.” The blue twi’lek points to a large ceramic mixing bowl already half full of previously frozen eggs. “We’ve got another mouth coming this morning.”

It doesn’t take Jessa long to shuck her coat, the basket of eggs clunking gently against the durasteel counter top as she sets it down. She unwinds Scorch’s wrap from her hair and moves it to her waist, tying off the deep green in a makeshift belt. After a quick wash of the hands she begins adding egg after egg, cracking them neatly and piling the spent shells to be fed back to the nunas later.

“Who’s here this morning?” She finally lets the curiosity get the better of her. They hadn’t had any visitors since she’d arrived and though she’d been told that it wasn’t uncommon to see faces come and go at regular frequencies, she hadn’t seen it in practice. Sev and Scorch hadn’t even gone out on a hunt since she’d arrived though they’d been planning to leave for one in a few days time. She tried not to think about it too much.

“Kal’buir’s son, Mereel,” Parja says, looking bored as she circles her spoon around the edge of the pot, stirring the porridge slowly. Cooking was not the Mandalorian woman’s favorite task but chores were chores and everyone had to rotate through them at least once in a while.

“He’s fun,” Laseema adds, “you’ll like him.”

Parja laughs. “I’m sure she will. Everyone _likes_ Mereel.”

“And he _likes_ everyone” Bardan adds playfully as he moves through the kitchen giving small nods of greeting as he goes. Kad balances on his forearm before he’s set down on the wooden bench and Bardan is moving to retrieve caf mugs. The toddler looks from his caretaker to the other women in the room then to Jessa.

It’s like she can see the decision in those big brown eyes the moment he makes it. His feet dangle for a moment before he begins slipping from his seat to the floor. His stocking clad feet pad softly against the stone slab floor as he approaches, stuffed nerf tucked up under one arm.

Jessa watches with a mixture of curiosity and dread. She’d never been around babies and children. Yes, she’d been told she’d be expected to bear one for her future husband but she hadn’t been taught anything about them. In her past life babies were tucked away under the watchful eyes of hired help until they were little adults. Even then they were expected to be seen and not heard.

On Mandalore, where everything seemed to revolve around children and families, she found herself, more than not, feeling woefully unprepared. 

Kad was what, three? How was she supposed to talk to him? What was supposed to do with him? 

Ordo and Bes’s boys proved less of an issue as they tended to be attached to either their mother or father at all times. If they were indisposed, it was one of their many uncles’ turn. They barely glanced in her direction. Not Kad. Jessa had found his deep soulful eyes staring at her more than once, across the room, at the dinner table, in the yard directly outside the karyai while he should have been playing with the other children.

“ _Laam_.” 

With egg still in hand, Jessa watches the small boy grab at her makeshift belt and tug, repeating himself in a soft yet firm voice.

“ _Laam_ ”

Bardan chuckles from his spot across the room, his spoon rattles against the ceramic as he stirs his caf. “He wants you to pick him up.”

Kad repeats himself again, tugging a little harder. 

“I don’t-“ Jessa can feel Laseema and Parja’s eyes joining Bardans, “I don’t know how…” tension draws her voice tight. The slight undertone of panic sounds ridiculous and embarrassing in her own ears. No one teases or chastises.

“Just pick him up.” Laseema encourages gently.

“It’s fine. You won’t break him” Bardan adds. Jessa watches the child’s long lashes blink up slowly.

“ _Laam_?”

It’s the almost sorrowful way he puts a question mark on the word that sways her from indecision.

“Ok, Kad’ika, _laam_.” 

The egg in hand gets placed back into the basket before Jessa wipes her hands. They haven’t picked up a speck of dirt since entering the kitchen, but the act of wiping them on her pants gives her a moment to settle. Kad waits patiently, taking his nerf in hand and lifting his arms up toward the nervous woman. 

Like a sack of protatoes, Jessa hoists him up, hands tucked into his armpits. He hangs in midair for a moment before something in her brain clicks and she pulls his small frame in against her body. Kad let’s out a soft sigh as he leans his weight into her chest. When she looks down she’s met with a mop of nearly black curls. She fights off the sudden urge to bury her nose in them. 

Parja chuckles but her look is soft, or as soft as the Mando woman ever looked. “You’ll never get anything done like that, move him over to your hip and you’ll have more freedom to work.”

She doesn’t want to move him. It’s a revelation having a child in her arms and she wants to absorb every second of it. Breakfast and hungry _Mando’ade_ won’t wait though. Laseema and Parja return to cooking and Bardan begins pulling stacks of dishes and utensils out as if her carrying Kad around while she did chores was the simplest of things. For them it is. There is nothing new or planet shattering about it.

Like Parja had said, rotating the boy to her hip does allows for more movement. Kad doesn’t seem to mind, content to watch the comings and goings. After a while he seems to become bored and lays his head on her shoulder as she whisks the bowl eggs into a soft yellow froth.

His tiny fingers, like sweet little sausages, play with the loose hair of her braid hanging over her neck. It tickles and she tries not to squirm as she dumps the bowls contents into a waiting pan on the stove.

“Are you hungry?” She asks softly. Kad nods against her shoulder but says nothing. 

He was a quiet child. It wasn’t talked about. Where as Ordo and Bes’ boys were a constant source of entertainment with their early language and babbling, Kad was silent. He rarely spoke in more then one word at a time and only when it felt most necessary. 

Jessa uses her free hand to rub small circles along his back and he melts further into her. 

“Don’t fall asleep now. You just woke up.” She murmurs against his hair.

“Don’t let him fool you.” Bardan ruffles the little boys head as he scoots by with a carafe for the table. “He is very much awake. He just likes being close.”

Laseema makes a soft sound in the back of her throat. There was more story, more history to that but on Kyrimorut history often stayed buried in the past, something sacred and guarded. Jessa didn’t push.

The eggs come together quickly and Jessa bobbles and readjusts the boys weight intermittently. Everything is calm, the kind that only settled in before a storm.

—-

Scorch falls into line with the rest of his _vode_ filing orderly into the kitchen for breakfast. Even so far away from Kamino, after so many years, some things still stuck with he and his brothers. Orderly lines to the mess being one of them. 

Bes wrangles her _verd’ika_ in front of him. Rowdy as usual, the older of the two, Conn, makes a run for it. Scorch snatches the squealing youngster up before he can get too far away. Besany offers him a thankful smile.

“ _Vor entye_.” She looks sleepy still but as beautiful as ever. The beginnings of a slightly rounded belly are beginning to show through her tunic. “It’s a shame you’ve never had any of your own. You’d make a good _buir_.”

Scorch laughs and it echoes through his _buyce_ as Conn squirms wildly in his hands. “Hold still ya wriggly little gundark”. The peals of giggles fall from the boy as the commando jostles him around ‘til he’s dangling by his feet. 

“I’m a _ba’vodu_. Not much time for the whole _buir_ schtick. And I do this so well.” He follows closely behind Besany ‘til she gets to her spot. Ordo is already waiting to take their youngest, Burr. Scorch offers Conn’s foot like a hunting trophy.

“Caught this one giving his _buir_ hell. What do ya think we should do with it?” He asks comically loud. Conn giggles and swings at Scorch.

Ordo, for once, looks at ease as he takes the flailing child. “Something this stringy is only good for roba fodder.”

Scorch watches the pair for a moment before slipping his _buyce_ off and clipping it to his belt. The soft sound of serving spoons doling out eggs and porridge begin filling the room. He comes up short looking for his own seat.

There’s his _buir._ There’s Jessa. But between the two -his spot- there’s a small dark haired interloper. Kad, as if he knew what Scorch was thinking, looks up and smiles at the commando, a speck of eggs clinging to his lip.

“ _Ad’ika_? Are you going to eat or stand there all day?” A bored look is painted on his _buir_ ’s face. Walon’s brow raises in mock irritation. He hadn’t had enough caf yet.

“Well I’m just trying to figure out if this is a test run or if you’ve replaced me for a new model.” He points to Kad. “You’re in my spot little man.” 

Jessa finally glances over. She rolls her eyes softly before patting her lap and saying something quietly to Kad. The toddler crawls into her lap, nestling into the bend of her arm. She hands him a piece of bacon and the child chews happily.

It’s then Scorch realizes his feet won’t move. His boots are seemingly glued in place as he watches Jessa brush some hair from Kad’s eyes in such a natural thoughtless way that something in his brain begins spooling up, Some dark here to unknown mandalorian lizard hindbrain that whispers a quiet “yessss” into his subconscious.

“Scorch‘ika? Are you going to sit or catch flies all day?”

The commando’s jaw snaps shut with an audible clack of teeth that has a few brows raised and and few more snickers floating his way. Thankfully, Jessa doesn’t notice. He’s able to slip into the spot between her and Wal’buir without having to explain himself to her.

Walon glances lazily over at his son with a look that tells Scorch that the old bastard has seen everything he needs to. He tries to avoid eye contact. 

“Good morning,” Jessa hums quietly, plying Kad’s grabby hands with another slice of bacon. She’s gone from three pieces on her plate to zero incredibly fast. The boy has his father’s appetite.

“Mornin’” the word comes out rough but he presses through, “Sev hasn’t come in yet.” He notes, without glancing for his brother who should be flanking her

“Probably out meeting Mereel.” Kal Skirata offers from across the table, “you know the way they do.”

Parja grunts quietly and Fi lets a laugh slightly too loud for the given circumstances slip. “When did bouncing a blaster bolt off beskar become an appropriate greeting?”

Ordo speaks up, “when a commando decided he needed to one up an ARC.”

Scorch’s eyes narrow at the Null ARC encouraging his son to eat; Little Burr seems uninterested in it. Ordo sighs.

There’s no real heat to Scorch’s look. Ordo was right - though Scorch will never admit it. Sev felt he had to prove something. 

“Psycho Sev welcoming committee,” Corr jokes.

To his left Jessa tenses and Scorch watches her from the corner of his eye as she balances Kad on one knee while reaching over and grabbing a durasteel carafe in the middle of the table. She has grace. Not like that of the trained soldiers she’d taken up with but like a dancer. Every movement seems fluid and refined. He could watch her twiddle her thumbs all day and not get bored of breaking down the movement. 

“Scorch?” He pastes a lopsided grin on his face.

“Yes, _Mesh’la_?”

Her cheeks flush and it fans that small bit of his heart where he carries his pride.

“Cream and sugar?” She has a heaping spoonful of unrefined sugar crystals hovering dangerously above his mug. He nods eagerly and watches as she mixes it in before splashing cream over the top. 

It’s perfect and he tells her as much. Jessa finds a bit of Mando pride of her own if her bashful smile is anything to go by. Not for the first time he wonders what she’d do if he leant over and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. A full breakfast table was probably not the time to find out.

“More.” Kad’s quiet voice demands Jessa’s attention and draws Scorch from his musing. The kid was lucky he was cute. “More B _a’vodu_.”

The table quiets and all eyes trail to their end of the table. Scorch catches Skirata’s assessing gaze.

“ _Pare_ , Kad’ika.” Scorch breaks the silence and hands the child a piece of his own roba bacon, “ _Ba’vodu_ needs to eat some of her food too. You’ll get so big she’ll be sitting on your lap.” Kad looks at his own legs curiously. A smile plays at the corner of Jessa’s plush lips.

“She can sit on my lap any day.” 

Scorch doesn’t miss the narrowed eyes and exasperated sigh from Kal Skirata as all gathered turn toward the door. Sev and Mereel stagger in. Mereel has his arm looped around Sev’s stiff shoulders. The two got on well enough, but Mereel never seemed to get it through his head how little Sev liked to be touched. His pod mate looks about as happy with the situation as a wet tooka.

“Armor still passing muster _ner vod_?” Atin questions in between bites of porridge, unfazed by Sev’s displeased look. Laseema rolls her eyes as Mereel points to a scratch along the center of his breast bone. 

“Handled a double tap from Sev’ika. I’d say it’s still good to go.” 

Sev shrugs out from under the larger Nulls arm and moves to sink to wash his hands. He’s fastidious in his cleanliness. Scorch chalks it up to a year spent in the dank undergrowth on Kasshyk. Hot water and soap were a luxury Sev was happy to have.

Mereel wanders around to greet his father, falling to one knee so the old merc doesn’t need to get up to press his weathered forehead to his sons buyce. A quiet ‘ _su cuy’gar_ ’ passes between the two.

Ordo is next. The golden boy stands to greet his brother exchanging a quick Keldabe kiss in welcome before Mereel is reaching down to ruffle his nephews hair. Kad bounces eagerly in Jessa’s lap.

The Null notes the excited child and gives him a small wave of the fingers.

“Hey little man.”

Jessa has to be quick; her arm wraps around Kad’s waist to prevent him from tumbling off in his excitement to see his uncle.

Scorch catches Sev slipping in at Jessa’s side and the almost minuscule way she leans into him, just for a second, in greeting. Sev grumbles in response but seems content to let her fix him some caf as he loads his plate up. Scorch watches as his pod mate’s body begins to relax and the tension bleeds out.

Mereel slips in across from the pair between Corr and Atin. Scorch’s eyes follow the reach of the Null ARC’s gaze to the woman next to him. There’s interest there and a warning claxon in the back of his head begins a distant howl. 

Jessa slides Sev his caf before glancing at the newcomer. Scorch watches her eyes for… he’s not sure what he’s watching for but, kriff, he’ll know it when he sees it and he probably won’t like it. Mereel had a reputation and Scorch is not particularly fond of the idea of his - of Jessa finding out what that reputation entailed.

“I’m Mereel.” The Null presses his hand across the table. Vau stiffens imperceptibly at his son’s side. 

Jessa offers her own hands for a shake. The way Mereel’s thumb slides over her knuckles does not go unnoticed. Sev sets his fork down and watches. Jessa pulls back after a moment.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“The pleasure is all mine. We don’t usually get visitors. Particularly not ones so beautiful.” 

He can see the color rising in Jessa’s cheek from the corner of his eye. Scorch suddenly has the urge to wipe the smile off the null’s face. 

Sev drops his fork to his plate with a loud clatter. The woman between them startles, caf sloshes over her hand and she juggles Kad to retrieve her napkin from her lap to dry the mess.

“Sorry.” The apology sounds anything but. “Butter fingers.”

As easily as that, Jessa’s attention is refocused to Sev and breakfast commences without much to do. Except Scorch catches Mereel’s curious eyes continuing to fall back to the dark haired woman at his side. The claxon clanging in his dome gets a little louder.

“Something wrong with your food, _ad’ika_?”

Of course his buir notices. Walon Vau noticed everything.

“No, _buir._ ”

His gut twists at the accusing look sweeping the older Mando’s face. It’s a look that would have preceded an epically painful training session just a few years ago.

“I’m sure you’ll take care of it.”

*****

It’s quiet, everyone having dispersed following breakfast from one end of the homestead to the other to see to chores and children. Sev stays back at the small table in his _buir’s karyai_. Laseema had handed off a basket of knives that needed tending and he’d been working through them for the last few hours honing and sharpening each blade to perfection. The tips of his fingers are glossy from the mineral oil he’s rubbed into the whetstone. The sound of the metal to stone, usually a near meditative lullaby is doing little to slow the high speed bullet transport that is his mind. Since breakfast, the slow simmering edge of irritation has been building. Honestly, he’s not a fan. 

As far as Null ARCs went, he didn’t mind Mereel. Sev could sit down and talk tactics and munitions with the guy. That was about as good as it got as far as Sev was concerned - outside of his immediate family. Something though, something about the Null’s return home this time was sawing slowly away at his last nerve.

It wasn’t the friendly, manic camaraderie he had thrust upon him after placing a blaster bolt just shy of his targeted intercostal space. No, the overly handsy Buddy Buddy routine wasn’t anything new. Sev knew to expect it and grit his teeth to dust until it was done. What he hadn’t expected was the ARC trooper to focus an inordinate amount of charm and white teeth on Jessa.

There were times, he’d admit without pressure, that he’d been envious of Mereel’s amorous success. It was legendary and if the way Corr talked about it was any indicator, entirely true. The younger trooper turned commando had witnessed it first hand galavanting through the galaxy at large, being ‘trained’ by the ARC. While he didn’t particularly understand the point of a sentient in every space port, Sev did understand success. The drive to be the best at everything had been bred into him, honed to a sharp point by his former training sergeant the same way he was now working at the blades in his hand. Maybe if he was good at it, the flirting and seduction, he wouldn’t be so uncomfortable about it. Maybe if he knew he could get a woman into bed with the flick of his gaze he’d actually want to.

But he couldn’t and he didn’t. It wouldn’t be an issue if he hadn’t seen the interest of a hunter flash in Mereel’s eyes the first time he’d laid eyes on their - on Jessa. Or that’s what he tells himself.

Not only did the Null keep his eyes on her, he worked to keep hers on him. Asking questions that just didn’t warrant asking. 

_How was she liking Kyrimorut_?

Kriff. She liked it just fine. She wasn’t a slave and she was safe and fed. What wasn’t there to like? 

_Had she had a chance to go exploring yet?_

She didn’t need to be off and exploring. She didn’t know the first thing about protecting herself and Sev would be damned if she left the compound by herself to do it.

The irritation grows from simmer to full boil as he remembers the smiles she’d given the other clone. She was allowed to smile and answer his questions as much as she was with any other resident of Kyrimorut. Why then, did he start plotting the different ways he could slot the _sha’buir_ at the table when she did it for Mereel?

“Sev?” Wal’buirs voice interrupts the steadily escalating inner turmoil, “if you keep on, the stone is going to take the rest of that blade and Laseema will have your hide.”

Sev blinks down dumbly at the knife and whetstone in his hand. He’d lost himself so fully in thought that the knife he’d been working was visibly smaller then when he started. He tests his finger along the sharp edge and it slices into his thumb with only a whisper of touch. He sucks the drop of blood off the tip of his finger and presses it against his palm to stem the flow of another.

“Apologies, _buir_.” It’s empty words and they both know it by the flat tone of his voice. Walon takes a long look at his son and Sev uses every trick he’d learned over the course of his short life not to squirm under the assessing gaze.

“Has Jessa returned yet? I believe Scorch was needing assistance in the armory?”

He doesn’t think about setting the whetstone down but does it anyway, slowly and carefully laying the freshly honed knife next to it.

Walon continues to scrutinize him as he speaks. Sev knows the feel of the old merc’s eyes. He knows the change in tone of his voice.

“I thought it would be educational for her to see how you prepare for a hunt, but she hasn’t returned from the range yet.”

“What?” One word, infused with all the earlier irritation and untempered by his _vods_ calming presence.

Carrying on the act of obliviousness, his buir continues. “Mereel offered to give her a blaster lesson after breakfast. She seemed eager to learn.”

Sev is silent.

“They’ve been at it a few hours. I was hoping he’d have brought her back by now but maybe…” the Mandalorian lets the words hang in the air. “Suppose you go retrieve her before she’s wasted all her energy for the day. The Null is liable to wear a girl out with his boundless _enthusiasm_ -“

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Becoming mouthy with ones _buir_ was never a wise idea - particularly when that buir was Walon Vau - but Sev can’t help the sharp edge his words take.

Walon’s mercurial smile vanishes in an instant. Sev fights the overwhelming urge to flinch. 

“I mean for you to go retrieve the _dal’ika_ before I have to come to blows with Skirata.”

Sev cocks his head, confusion evident. Why would Skirata have anything to do with Jessa-

“And by the Manda don’t think that you, your _vod_ and I won’t be having a discussion in the very near future about the proper way to-“

“ _Bui_ r? I-“

“Enough.” Walon huffs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he looks up at the earthen ceiling of the karyai. “Go retrieve Jessa and you and Scorch spend the afternoon- Maker… Have you told her you are leaving tomorrow?”

Genuinely, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He and his brother had been hunting together since Sev had been well enough to walk unaided. They came and went as they chose and took as many or as few bounties as the guild offered. It was a pleasant distraction. It kept their training honed and gave them a reason to get all sorts of fun new toys. They’d been home this rotation longer than they had in ages. While the restlessness hadn’t yet come, he did think it’d be nice to get back into the game, have his vod at his side and his blaster in hand.

Neither of them had mentioned telling Jessa. It hadn’t seemed like an issue but now? Now it seemed like a failure of basic planning, an epic kriff up that was going to blow up in their face.

“It’ll be handled.” Direct eye contact was best with his _buir_ , but even as a grown man - in theory - capable of taking the old merc in a fair fight, it took brass gett’se. 

Vau raises a brow but says nothing and tendrils of anxiety scoot through Sevs bloodstream like they’d been placed there with a large gauge field hypo. 

“Make sure it is.”

————

The training range and accompanying grounds had been set up by Kal Skirata long before any of the clones knew that they’d have the dream of a long life outside of GAR control. Sev wonders if it was before or after Kashyyyk, then pushes the thought away before the hot stench of jungle and fevered bites of insects too large for comfort come back to him.

The range was a solid klik from the _yaim_. Even back then the old _sha’buir_ had thought of the effects of live fire and explosions on his future _bu’ad_. Even by Mando terms, what the Nulls and Commandos had seen by the time they were Kad’s age was so far past the point of good consciousness it was unforgivable. Sev doesn’t like to think about it. No child should grow up in a war zone and no child should be raised to think he was going to be one of the gods of that war. It did things to a man.

His boots eat up the distance between the _yaim_ and his destination. A speeder would have covered the short trip in no time flat but it allowed for little time to reel in the ice cold flare of his temper. It wasn’t often that Sev let the twisted inner workings of his own mind get the best of him. He’d learned to control and focus the rage and fear that had clung to his armor since he was a cadet. His buir had taught him to bury it, to harness it, to make it work for him.

Except he’d never been prepared for this situation. 

He can see the small copse of trees that marked the range. Just beyond, he’d find the lineup of targets. No booths like back on Kamino (though they did have two set up at the back of the munitions building). Real environmental factors came into play out here. The Northern weather changed from day to day, especially as fall made the dramatic change to winter. Not too long from now they’d need full cold weather ops gear to use the range. It was good. It kept semi-retired clones busy and their skills up to par.

There was only a slight chill on the breeze today, and all around it was perfect for range time. _Kyr’vhetine Tuur_ would not be far off. The harvest celebration didn’t have a particular day, more a feel and it was quickly getting there. Maybe a week? Maybe two? They’d need to be back from their hunt beforehand because Scorch was loath to miss a celebration - especially when the Bralor clan came and the _ti’haar_ flowed and the tables were stacked with all varieties of food.

Sev doesn’t hear familiar pops of blaster fire as he gets close. It brings up the hairs on his neck. His steps quicken and he tries not to think of the thoughts his buir had placed in his head because he _doesn’t_ want to slot Mereel. Not in front of Jessa.

It’s hard to stop himself as he rounds the corner and sees the larger Null wrapped around her. Sev’s fingers are around the grip of his deece before he can take a deep breath, finger flicking off the safety without thought. 

“Sev! Nice of you to join us.” Mereel’s voice rings out and Jessa snaps from his hold quickly, not unlike a cadet caught breaking regs. Her cheeks are red as she steps away from Mereel.

“Mereel offered to teach me to shoot.” 

Sev can’t help but stare at the pair. He’s thankful for his _buyce_ and the blank slate it presented. His eyes slide between the pair. Jessa looks nervous, very interested in the look of her feet and kriff… he could never be mad at her. That piece of information hits him like a loaded transport. There were many feelings just her presence dredged up but anger was never one of them.

Mereel clears his throat. Now Mereel on the other hand… Sev’s anger flares just looking at the man. 

Smooth, confident, oozing charisma - Mereel was everything Sev wasn’t, and up until a few minutes ago had never cared to be. Maybe now though he wouldn’t be so mad with just an ounce of the Null’s… whatever it was he had.

“Come to join, _ner vod_?”

Jessa glances up at him, soft blue eyes staring directly through his _buyce_ as if it weren’t even there. He wanted to beat Mereel half to death with his own dislocated arm -a trick he’d learned from a wookiee during his tenure on Kashyyyk - but, not having a wookiee’s strength, he’d need to sever it with a blade first. It quickly became a messy ordeal, though satisfying. Also, it wasn’t something he needed Jessa seeing.

“The princess here is supposed to be helping Scorch in the armory.”

“I am?”

Sev snorts, the sound crackling through the distance between them. Mereel cocks his head.

“Yeah. You are.”

Of course she didn’t know this and he should feel like a complete _chakaar_ for making her think she should but he doesn’t.

“Before you drag her away you should at least see where she’s at,” Mereel interrupts, “Come here.” He encourages the girl and Jessa complies slowly, taking the offered weapon from his hand with long delicate fingers. Sev’s eyes don’t miss the way the Null’s run along the back of her hand as he checks her grip. 

Sev grinds his teeth. He doesn’t like that he’d chosen a slugthrower as opposed to a blaster for her first time. The kick back on the thrower was bound to be a distraction. Her shoulder would be bruised and she’d be sore for days, less inclined to want to shoot again. Plus, the thing was far too large for her smaller frame. There were far better options even among the other slugthrowers they had.

Sev _really_ didn’t appreciate the Null’s continued nearness as he helped position Jessa’s arms. Mereel’s gloved hands gently raise her right elbow and tuck the weapon into the soft cradle of her shoulder. He keeps a ghost of a hold on her elbow while the other slips to her opposite hip and rests there as she brings her face down to line up the sights. 

It takes every last ounce of self control Sev has to keep his weapon holstered, though he doesn’t go as far to flip to safety back on. From here it would take only a second to put a smoking hole in the back of the _chakaar’s_ head. _Di’kut_ left himself vulnerable, his buyce a half a dozen steps away on the ground.

Sev can see the weight of the slugthrower putting a strain on Jessa already by the nearly imperceptible bounce of the barrel as she tries to aim for the target nestled back between the trees. Mereel steps into her for further support and the space between her shoulders visibly tenses. Everything about it is setting her up for a hard time. It was careless on the Null’s part.

Or was it?

Maybe that was what Mereel had hoped for? Jessa keeps the stock of the weapon pressed tight to her shoulder. Sev knew the weight of it and while he was impressed with her effort, she still wasnt managing to hold the fekking thing steady. Her posture doesn’t relax. Still as tense as if she were on the other side of the scope. Sev is tense too as he watches the other man adjust her body. His upper lip curls back in an unseen snarl as she takes the first shot. It goes wide of the target, hitting the dirt and sending a small cloud into the air. She huffs frustratedly. Small critters scamper in the trees above them as she takes another shot. Again, it’s hard to the left, chipping the bark off a nearby tree. 

Sev nearly laughs as she shakes off the ‘Nulls attention and turns back to Sev. His mirth dies. She looks dejected. The tightness drains away after she’s away from Mereel. This is why he should have been the one. This was his job and while he would never be known as a great communicator or teacher, he knew weapons and he knew how to match them to their people. There should be glee in her eyes that she made her first shot, not abject frustration.

Mereel seems oblivious and Jessa offers him a manufactured smile as he pays her back. “A little practice and she’ll be there in no time.”

——-

“This is a lot of walking for you.”

“I’ll manage, Jessa answers. The awkward air of… something lingers between her and the commando at her side. “What is the other option? Are you going to carry me?”

Two beats of silence as if he were contemplating and then - “No. we could rest for a few minutes though.”

“I’m fine.”

“Even I know those are dangerous words.”

Jessa catches him from the corner of her eye, _buyce_ solidly in place but a small hint of humor tinting his words. They’d been walking for a while. It wasn’t a bad day and between the shining sun and the recently purchased clothes, she was feeling quite comfortable as the temperature began to dip.

That being said, the walk back to the compound is not nearly as fun as the walk out. Her stamina was lightyears from where it had been when she’d been found aboard the _Duke_ , but even now she could not keep up in the way the Mandalorians around her could. Doc - Mij - had said it would come with time, but he hadn’t put numbers to it. She still tired easily, had to excuse herself - or be told - to go rest. It was embarrassing that she couldn’t maintain like those around her, though no one had ever looked cross or made her feel poorly for it. She did that well enough herself.

Sev slows his pace to match hers and it is all suddenly very frustrating. No, not frustrating. It was infuriating. The whorl of the familiar emotion had been growing since he’d shown up at the range, all silent judgement and unflinching irritation that he had to retrieve her after she’d apparently forgotten what she’d been assigned to do for the day.

Mereel had asked after breakfast if she’d had a chance to see the range and as she had not, she’d readily taken up his offer. She knew Sev was proud of the range - even if he refused to admit it - and the thought of seeing something he’d worked so hard at seemed very important. She wanted to know the range and how to handle a blaster if not to prove herself to her to those around her, then to prove something to herself. 

She’d come to assume Sev or Scorch would be the ones to teach her, but they never said anything about it. While it had been disappointing, it was something she rightly assumed she needed to learn.

Except after she’d gotten there she’d learned she was miserable at it. 

She couldn’t hold the slugthrower Mereel had brought. In her hands it felt cumbersome and unbalanced, ungainly and wrong in her grip. Even with his gentle encouragement she wasn’t able to set a shot on target. It had only gotten worse when he’d physically tried to help. She tensed at his touch, had to swallow down tendrils of anxiety that she knew were unwarranted. While her shoulder was now beginning to ache with the familiar pang of fresh bruise she had hardly noticed the kickback or the jerk of the stock at the time while he’d been so close. She’d only known that she wanted to get far away from being touched.

If he were a man of Kyrimorut he was a good man and could be trusted. That she knew. Not one person on the homestead had given her reason to fear since she’d left medical, but when Mereel’s armored chest had pressed against her body, when his big arms had taken her and he’d towered over her, she couldn’t help the memories that flowed back. The feeling of a pillowcase shoved over her head in the bedroom of her parents’ complex amongst the chaos of her homeworld’s fall. Her nostrils burned with the acrid smell of smoke that wasn’t there. When Mereel had adjusted her grip she’d only felt the cool durasteel of binders being tightened around her wrists as she was dragged into a mining guild camp - of when the burning cold iron had pressed into her neck as she had struggled to get away.

“Princess?” 

In the confines of her chest, Jessa’s heart pumps a rhythm fueled by fear. She didn’t realize she’d stopped, feet digging into the soft dirt under them. Sev stands in front of her, helmet tilted and studying. Her hair is loose and a gust of wind blows wild wisps of it into her face as she shakes her head, using her hands to force the thick mane back. She pushes it roughly behind her ears, focusing anywhere but the former republic commando in front of her.

“Sorry.”

Gloved hands hover over her arms. Steady. Waiting. And then they slowly lower and he takes a step back.

“Sit.” It’s an order and Jessa follows the tilt of Sev’s _buyce_ til she sees a fallen tree. She nods once, arguing with a Vau was useless. 

The thick bark that remains in sparse chunks along the wood has deep channels running in it. She sits once and then moves to find a spot run smooth by time and weather.

“Your biometrics are all kriffed up.”

Jessa looks up dumbly at the commando towering over her and then the fog of stupidity clears and again, anger replaces it. “Are you… are you monitoring me?”

Sev taps the side of his bucket with two fingers. “You looked like you were having a problem.” He explains tersely, “your heart rate and-“

“Don’t. Just stop and-“ She’s flustered and the words come out in a splutter. “Quit _monitoring_ me. I don’t need a nanny droid.”

Sev doesn’t say anything else as he falls into a crouch in front of her. Remorse is sudden and swift and her words echo in her ears. She’d compared him to a droid. He doesn’t look up at her as he rifles through a pouch attached to his belt. She moves to apologize, to explain that she hadn’t meant to be so careless but Sev is speaking and offering something before she can.

“Eat up. I’m sure the _di’kut_ forgot to bring lunch out here.” 

She hesitates too long and Sev takes her hand in his, flipping her palm up and placing the meal bar in her hand.

“ _Chaaj’skraan_ ,” he says. She doesn’t know what the translation is exactly, but she does know what it is. She’d helped Parja make a batch the other day, probably what she held now in her hand. 

Parja had explained that the simple quick meal replacement was a Mandalorian tradition, each region making theirs slightly different but all were _yai’yai_ \- nutrient dense, rich, and nourishing. She can feel the silken texture of the rendered tallow along her skin. If she held it long enough her palm would be too slippery to hold anything after. She’d barely been able to open a door after making them with Parja, much to the Mando woman’s delight. She takes a bite. It melts on her tongue as she chews. Bits of smoked jerky and bright flavors of both sweet and tart dried fruits dance on her tongue. She had been hungry and she’d been so swept up in her own emotions to realize it. 

Sev pulls another from his pouch and releases his buyce with a quiet hiss, setting it down next to him and settling on the cool ground. He chews thoughtfully. It seemed to Jessa that people didn’t give Sev enough credit. He was observant and attentive without making it feel like any more then a passing thought. She liked that about him. To be honest she liked very many things about Sev and equally about his vod, which was where the problem was beginning to lay.

“Why didn’t you ask me to show you the range?” The gruffly asked question comes as a surprise to Jessa but the look on the commando’s face shows that he’s surprised himself as well. 

She buys herself time by ripping off another chunk of _chaaj’skraan_. Small creatures roam the forest as it thickens behind them. Sticks snap and crackle as they scurry about. Leaves rustle in the canopy as small birds alight. Jessa swallows and speaks.

“You didn’t offer. I thought you were busy.”

Sev’s jaw tightens and for just a flash of a second she sees something like frustration on his sharp features.

“You were supposed to ask.”

“No one ever told me that rule.” She doesn’t mean to snap back and quickly feels her cheeks flush. “So you were supposed to offer and I was supposed to ask. We were waiting on each other and Mereel had good timing.” The muscle in Sev’s jaw twitches at the other Mandalorian’s name.

“I’m the better option.”

Jessa’s head cocks as Sev looks toward one of the sounds in a way that told her this whole conversation was more uncomfortable then he’d ever admit. “Sev?”

He looks back with a sigh, “what?”

“Will you teach me to use a blaster?”

Sev Vau didn’t waste words. Where Scorch had an endless amount at disposal, Sev seemed to work off of a limited supply, rationing them out for only the most important moments in his days. He doesn’t use them now as he rises. He moves with the care one would take when coming upon a wild animal. He assesses and then he moves. His hand juts out and Jessa’s shoves the last bit of lunch into her mouth and takes it. “Now?”

“There isn’t a better time.” Sev pulls his blaster from his holster and swings his rifle off his shoulder. Both are fine bits of weaponry even to Jessa’s untrained eye. Sev kept his weapons immaculately clean but on top of that it didn’t take an expert to realize that they were highly customized to his specific needs and preferences. 

“Which one?”

His gaze shifts from her then to each weapon in a quick assessment before he carefully lays the rifle down. “Pistol”.

Sev turns and paces out two dozen steps. Jessa can see his mouth counting as he goes, his black gloved fingers tapping out the count along his grey beskar clad thigh. Glancing over his shoulder, he frowns at her -or at least what Jessa’s assumes passes as a Sev frown.

“We haven’t got all day, princess.” The familiar nickname gives her a warm feeling that is only tempered by the attitude behind it. Right. She’s going to try this again.

Sev hands her the blaster as she comes to rest next to him. She holds it pointing down. She had enough sense to know to keep the blasty bit away from anything she didn’t want dead. 

“Check the safety,” Sev says lowly. Raising the pistol, Jessa glances at the small switch, using one finger to slide it forward.

“Ok, it’s off now,” Sev continues, “that dead tree to the right? The one with the knot. Aim for the knot.”

The old pine had seen better days. Its needles have gone rust brown as death had taken it but they hadn’t yet fallen. It stands out among the healthier stock around it. The knot in its side is obvious, a bulbous deformity that’s shared among some of the other trees in the area. Jessa raises the blaster. A soft breeze tickles the back of her neck, finding the small beads of sweat forming and chilling her skin. She can feel Sev’s eyes as she brings the blaster up. She inhales slowly, squeezing the trigger as she releases.

The bolt goes wide. A bird chatters angrily at her from its nest while the tiny mouths of its young demand food from it. Jessa feels her shoulders slump as she drops the blaster back into a waiting position, flicking the safety on.

“I can’t do this.”

“You don’t get to use that word.”

“So you’re saying I _can’t_ use that word.” The smile that pulls at the corner of her mouth fades as silence stretches. Over her shoulder Sev stares blankly. Maybe she wasn’t as funny as she thought. “Well ok then…”

“First off.” She can sense Sev moving into her space. He shuffles his boots, a small favor for her. Sev was as silent as a strill. Unless he wanted his intentions announced, they weren’t. It doesn’t stop her from jumping as his open palm rests against her back. He ignores it and Jessa pretends it didn’t happen. His boot taps at the inside of her own and she quickly readjusts her footing.

“Good. Now, raise the blaster.” The low gravel of his voice stirs butterflies in her stomach. They flutter wildly as he presses in closer. He’s so close. His breath kisses the soft skin behind her ear. She raises the weapon. Her fingers caress the grip. Sev’s right hand rests over hers, his arm lining up with her own. A finger reaches over her own and flicks off the safety. It clicks softly, the sound as loud as an explosion as everything around her narrows down to just the blaster, the target and Sev. 

“Don’t pull. Squeeze,” he instructs. His hand leaves hers and hovers in the air.

In through her nose she pulls in a slow, steadying breath. Out through her mouth and…

The blaster goes off. Jessa blinks quickly. It takes a moment for her eyes to focus in on the smoking hole the blaster bolt left in its wake. Something like joy, like pure exaltation pumps through her veins. It’s not a perfect shot but it’s close and she feels powerful. If it had been an assailant she’d probably be dead but damnit, it’s a tree and she hit it!

“I did that?”

No answer comes but the hole near the knot continues to smolder in answer.

“Do it again, princess.”

And so she does. Relaxing back into the armored chest behind her. His hands fall to her hips and neither of them is sure if it’s intentional, but he gives her a firm squeeze and she inhales sharply. 

The next shot hits just right of the first. So she does it again and again and again. Her focus is solely on the target until she’s emptied the weapon and no more red bolts come. 

Her senses telescope out as she lowers the weapon. The sound of rustling comes back, the scent of pine needles on the breeze. Sevs breath puffs out in a rough exhale. She turns against him, her chest pressed tight to his. He’s looking down at her with eyes only slightly wider than usual.

“That’s our girl.”

It’s said so quietly she nearly misses it, and he doesn’t give her anytime to question it before he’s stepping away and retrieving the other weapon from the ground.

“Now, you wanna try my rifle?”

Jessa nods shyly but there’s no doubt he can tell he’s already got her hooked.

———-

Scorch has his back turned to them as Sev ushers Jessa into the armory. The north wind has picked up and leaves follow in their wake before the sniper has time to pull the door all the way shut. For safety the small reinforced hut was left free of transparisteel. The only light comes from the cool glow of the overhead fixtures. It was easy to get lost in your work without the sun to point you in the direction of the proper time. The lone chrono in the room is lost under a pile of mangled metal parts littering an unused corner.

Jessa smiles over at him. The damn thing stretches from ear to ear and it makes Sev feel warm all over. He did that. He made her smile. Not only had she not been awful with his blaster pistol, she hadn’t been half bad with his rifle. A little fine tuning and she’d be on target every time in no time. She’d just needed the right teacher. That sets a seed of pride so deep in his heart he couldn’t dig the _shabla_ thing out even if he wanted to.

Jessa shakes her arms out of her coat and drapes it over a nearby stool as he watches. Scorch turns from his work bench. 

She hadn’t pulled away from him, tensed up like she had with Mereel. Maybe it hadn’t been the heavy bolt thrower alone that had ruined her aim. 

Sev imagines he could feel her heat through the layers of clothing and beskar. He imagines the same trust he felt from Scorch radiating from her. 

His vod’s voice slips into the comms of his buyce smoothly. “ _Jate oya’karir_?”

Sev doesn’t answer and the sound of Scorch’s laughter fills his bucket. He ignores the man and Scorch turns back to his work station, carefully placing a vacu-lid on a small transparisteel carafe.

When he finishes, he places it in the durasteel cabinet above his bench and taps in the locking sequence. Sev can hear the hard _schink_ of the magnasteel lock sliding into place.

“Safety first, gotta keep my _shebs_ and _gett’se_ in one piece.”

Sev huffs a laugh.

“Come on Sev’ika, you know how sad your mother would be if I blew off her favorite pieces.”

“ _Di’kut_ , I don’t have a mother.” Sev can feel his brother’s eyes roll from across the room and through his bucket.

“That’s part of the joke.”

“Hardee har har,” Sevs voice rasps as he reaches up and releases his buyce. He clips it to his belt as he catches Jessa’s curious look. “And here I thought you were supposed to be funny.”

“What about you _Mesh’la_? You think I’m funny, right?”

Jessa cocks her head, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “An absolute gas.” 

Scorch’s long leather work gauntlets run from the tips of his finger to his elbows. He takes the time to work them off and drape them over his bench. He’s as relaxed leaning back against the detonator-covered workspace as he is lazing in front of the fire in the _karyai_. The small, shiny dets rattle merrily against one another as he rests his hips back against the durasteel work top.

“What are you crazy kids up to today?”

In his periphery Sev sees Jessa’s demeanor change. A slow stiffness crawls back into her stance and her smile loses some of its ease. His brother notices it just as surely as Sev himself had. Scorch’s bucket tips toward her, a silent question.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to be helping you this morning and I just wanted to apologize.”

Sev keeps his cringe internal. Scorch’s bucket twists just a hair toward him. A large portion of their upbringing had been preparing for things like this. Drill, drill, drill ‘‘til it’s second nature and then when it all goes to _osik_ , trust your _vod_ and make it up as you go.

“Helping me…” Scorch turns back to his work bench. Sev takes note of the small arsenal prepared and wonders in passing if maybe his vod hadn’t gone a little overboard. 

“I think I’ve got it covered now,” he says after a moment, looking toward Sev, “but consider your apology accepted.”

Without his bucket and comms snugged over his head, Sev’s at a loss to explain himself the way he wanted, that the _shabuir_ Null ARC had been trying to insinuate himself into their girl’s life. That the _chakaar_ had been touching her, close enough to breathe in the same air she exhaled. That he’d needed an excuse to break it up before she decided Mereel was a good option or he’d decided to slow the _shabuir_ , whichever came first.

“Mereel dragged her off to the range this morning and she forgot _buir_ had said you needed help.” Again, he thinks he should feel bad about making her feel bad. She’s doing that thing with her foot again, grinding her toes into the ground. It’s a stupidly obvious tell and she really needed to break the habit but he’s been enough of a bastard for one day without starting in on that. He doesn’t feel bad about getting her away from Mereel but the feeling was only going to carry him so far.

There’s a tightness that collects in Scorch’s shoulders, something that makes Sev think that his pod mate knew exactly where he was coming from. Had he seen it too then? Maybe they should have that talk with their _buir_ before they left. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe Scorch had seen that small flicker of self loathing in Jessa’s eyes and he’d wanted to deck Sev for putting it there? Thankfully, he doesn’t settle on the latter.

“Have a good time shirking your duties?” Scorch teases, his voice modulated through his buyce. Jessa’s face flares crimson as Sev watches. 

“I- I didn’t really get the hang of it until Sev showed me.” That pride the commando had felt earlier flares back to life as his brother cocks his helmet in his direction.

“Sev’ika is an excellent teacher.” There’s no joke, no teasing to his words. Scorch is paying him a compliment. It’s nice. 

Jessa takes a tentative step and both men watch as her eyes swing slowly around the large open room. 

This was their stronghold. The armory was where Sev felt most comfortable. 

They may not have been able to sow a seed or raise a beast, but it would never be said that Walon Vau’s _ad’ike_ didn’t know about causing chaos; in the small fortified bunker this was their kingdom.

While most residents of Kyrimorut went about their day armed - more than a few armed to the teeth - the majority of the weapons and munitions owned between the two clans were stockpiled in here. Locked racks lined the walls, accessible by biometrics. Slugthrowers and blasters of all shapes and sizes lay out neatly on Sev’s workspace in various forms of assemblage to be maintained or modified or fine tuned. Things that went boom - thermal detonators, poppers, and various other explosives - were lovingly attended to by Scorch. 

Creeping closer to the full work bench, Sev watches Jessa’s hand ghost over the new verpine he’d been working on. While not actually _new,_ it was new to him and he was still learning her ins and outs. She would look good in Jessa’s hands, he thinks. The verpine was elegant, high-end, and had been _procured_ from a bounty a while back who had the money to purchase the shatter gun but not the skill or the brain power to use it correctly. They’d done the galaxy a favor collecting that one and the weapon laying on his work bench had been the icing on the uj. Its sleek lines would complement Jessa’s more delicate, petite features. Sev makes a mental note of getting more range time in with the pair of them.

“What are you working on?” Jessa abandons his station and heads toward Scorch’s. The grey and yellow clad Mando watches her come closer. He pushes off the counter and takes a step to the side to allow her to see what he’s been up to. Sev settles in on a stool to watch the pair.

“What’s this for?” Jessa points.

“This?” Scorch picks up the round silver sphere she was indicating. Sev can hear the smile in his brother’s voice as he tosses the ball into the air, catching it and tossing again. “This, my darling, is a thermal detonator.”

It’s comical the way she quietly gasps and takes a step back. 

“Aww, _Mesh’la_! You’re fine. I haven’t blown myself up yet.” He soothes.

“No he’s only taken his and Wal’buirs brows off.”

Jessa and Scorch both turn Sev’s way. Jessa’s face is awash in horror, her pretty pink lips shaped in a “o” of shock. 

Sev can feel Scorch frowning through his _buyce_ as he catches the det and holds it in place. 

“That was only one time and they’ve obviously grown back.”

“Uh-huh”

Scorch is quick to pull off his buyce, stupid floppy hair all mussed. Jessa must find something endearing about it because she stifles a laugh behind her hand. “See? Perfectly handsome Mando brows. Strong, manly, completely real eyebrows.” 

Sev watches as he takes Jessa’s wrist in his free hand, pulling it away from her smiling face and raising it to his face. “See? Feel.”

She looks relaxed, Sev notes. He crosses his armored arms and relaxes against the counter top watching the pair. 

Scorch’s eyes close as Jessa smoothes the unruly brows down. Once she seems satisfied with his brows she moves to his hair. Her fingers hover for a second as Scorch’s eyes open. A silent exchange happens between the two. Sev doesn’t miss the small nod from his vod. His own heart does a stupid flip as she rakes her fingers back through his locks, untangling and straightening the mess.

“Better,” she says. She pulls away slowly and Sev doesn’t want to see it end. It’s stupid and domestic but his brother looks relaxed and happy in a way he can’t ever remember seeing.

“I can’t believe you haven’t shown her your trick yet.” Two sets of eyes dart his way as if they’ve forgotten he was there.

A slow smile creeps across Scorch’s face. “I don’t think she can handle my tricks.”

“ _She_ is right here.” Jessa frowns between the two. “I can handle anything you throw at me.”

They laugh in tandem at the petulant expression and the lines only deepen at the corners of her mouth. 

“Ok then. Go big or go home?”

She nods and Scorch loops one arm around her waist and pulls her back against his chest.

“Scorch!” she yips. 

“Jessa!” he mocks back in an airy tone. He turns without releasing her, grabbing another pair of detonators in his hand. Now totaling three he turns back. She eyes the explosives warily. 

“What are you planning-“ 

Scorch interrupts before she is able to finish her question. Sev knows where this is going, remembers a time when Boss and Fixer were around. He can remember Boss’s exasperation and Fixer’s nervous questioning.

“Now, _Mesh’la_ ,” Scorch begins. “I need you to lean back and hold very still. We don’t want to have an accident do we?”

Jessa’s lips clamp tight but she does as he asks. Her eyes lock with Sevs and he gives her a reassuring smirk. They look good together, Jessa just a head shorter and looking up and back over her shoulder while his brother grins down. Scorch removes his arm from around her waist and begins tossing one det up and down before adding a second. Jessa holds her breath and Sev can’t help the sudden laugh that hits him as she makes a nervous noise when the third detonator is added.

The demolitions expert has done this enough that three is no great feat. He barely has to concentrate. It’s no challenge. Wal’Buir had always felt a challenge was good for the soul and Sev agrees.

“ _Gar mirsh'kyramud,_ ” Sev barks.

Jessa glances at Scorch for context. The dets continue their smooth up and down motions, Scorch never breaking his momentum. He narrows his eyes at Sev before leaning close to Jessa. His lips are just a hair away from the shell of her ear. “The _di’kut_ says I’m boring. Wanna help me show him I’m not?”

Sev doesn’t miss the tiny shudder that works its way through her body. She’s smiling again and nodding slowly.

“Be a friend and reach around me and grab two more.”

This is the point Boss would have asked about his _jaro_ , where Fixer would have called all three of them _dini’la_. Sev loves it. It feels old and new. A bit of nostalgia sprinkled with the beginning of new memories.

While she’d been nervous just a few moments before, Jessa was now eagerly turning and pressing herself against Scorch’s chest as her arms wrapped around him.

“Easy, Princess. No pressing buttons,” Sev warns lazily as she blindly picks up a pair of poppers. When she turns back, Scorch encourages her to toss them into the mix one at a time. Soon enough he has all five weapons in rotation. It takes a little more concentration on his part, his dark eyes following the path of each device. His fingers only ever lightly touching each one as he keeps their momentum up.

“Another?” Jessa asks with something like manic joy beginning to blossom in her eyes. She doesn’t call him crazy. She doesn’t remind him he could kill them all, make a crater the side of a starship in the hard pack northern landscape. She wants in on the action. Wants to be part of their game.

Her sudden enthusiasm sparks something in Scorch, who nods eagerly. The energy flowing between the pair is palpable and means nothing but trouble. He’s all in.

“The more the merrier right, _vod_?” It takes a moment for Sev to realize his brother is speaking to him. 

“Yeah. I guess so.”

———

Yaim- home

Laam- up

Ved’ika- in this context “little soldier”

Vod entye- thank you (literally “I accept a debt”)

su cuy’gar- still alive

Ba’vodu- uncle/aunt

Buir- parent

Ad’ika- child, affectionately

Mesh’la- beautiful 

Pare- hang on

Bu’ad- grandchildren 

Ner vod- my brother/sister

jate oya’karir- good hunt

Gar mirsh'kyramud- you’re boring me senseless

Kyr’vhetine Tuur- harvest day (one of four Mando holidays @crimson and I have made up)

Chakaar- corpse robber/thief/petty criminal. Basically an insult.

Chaaj’skraan-“distance meal” my own creation using tallow and dried pieces neef along with dried fruit. A high energy snack food. Basically like pemmican.

Shebs-butt

Gett’se-balls

Shabiir- screw up

Jaro- Death wish

Dini’la-insane


	8. Chapter 8

The flow of information in and out of Tillamau had always been a trickle. Closely guarded by the ruling religious order, the priests serving the one Goddess believed in filtering the outside world to the citizens in small carefully curated doses. 

_The galaxy was a vile place, see?_

A _Goddessless, murderous place full of heathens, see?_

The Holonet was unheard of. In fact, Jessa hadn’t glimpsed her first bit of holomedia until she’d landed on Kappa Black and she’d happened upon one of the guards with a small handheld holo. The price he’d offered to allow her to watch was too steep for her to agree but the small taste had been intriguing. Tiny moving pictures brought to life in the palm of the Trandoshan’s hand, the story clear but blurred around the edges. Real and not, all at the same time.

Like what she was seeing now, rewatching the worst night of her life as if it were a commercial free holodrama.

She wills it away. _Not again. Please Maker, not again._

Like a specter, a ghost hovering, she’s unable to look away. She’s unable to control what’s about to happen. She’s along for the tragic ride with hindsight’s 20/20 vision.

Jessa sees herself, the girl she’d been and would never be again, pacing across the dark floors. Her bed, a confectionary pink with its down-stuffed pillows like tiny dollops of cream, holds court in the middle of the room, piled with luggage. Her footsteps are soft, belaying the rigid stiffness that had taken hold of the rest of her. 

As if she was truly there and not trapped in a dream, she can smell the stink of her parents’ home, drifting under her door as it burns out from under her. It stings her nose, makes her face contort and scrunch as if that alone would make it go away. It’s not just the smell that hits her though... 

There was supposed to have been a party. The guests had already begun arriving. Jessa was wearing the pretty new dress her mother had commissioned, deep green and soft velvet that best showed her off. The musicians had just begun tuning instruments when the first shouts and sounds of blaster fire had erupted. Then came the screams.

Yelling and shouting still wafted up to her, filtered through the door, interspersed with an agonizing shrill cries. There’s no reprieve. She’d tried her pillow and then her hands but nothing blocked the sounds. Was it her parents? Their guests. The help? Surely by the volume it was all three. 

Where was Ma’duo? Jessa needed her. She’d told her to lock herself in and pack a bag. Jessa - never one to question the woman who raised her - had done so dutifully and waited. Still waiting, she notes that the screams were becoming fewer and farther between. 

Jessa the voyeur remembers the false hope she’d felt. Things must be ok if it was becoming quiet again. The Goddess would protect her home and her parents because they were devout. They followed the one word and they had been rewarded for it. Had they not had a daughter? The Goddess wouldn’t choose to frown on them now.

When the knock comes she watches her former self run to the door and throw it open. How foolish and naive she’d been. She could have invited death without even a “who’s there?” 

Ma’duo trundles in under a thick cloak. She’s distracted and tense, her body taut and her ears are seemingly unable to hear the rapid fire questions Jessa throws at her. 

Watching it unfold, Jessa can’t hear the words but she remembers them. Questions about her parents and who was trying to hurt them. Was she safe? What did she need to do?

Ma’duo holds up a hand. _Easy little love_. She can read the plump painted lips. She can see the corners of her mouth curl up into a beatific smile.

Jessa’s heart clenches. That familiar pet name, the one she’d heard since she could remember. Little love. Ma’duo, her safety net… but she doesn’t have time to think about it because the scene is morphing, fading to black and coming back into cloudy focus in the chaotic space port. People are running, sprinting around them, dragging luggage and children. These were people Jessa had known. The elite now turned to fearful animals, creatures without grace and poise scurrying for their lives. 

She hadn’t worried though, because Ma’duo had never done anything but look after her, care for her in a way her parents were unable to. She trusted the older woman, loved her with everything her young heart knew. Even when she’d been led to a black freighter hidden away behind some luxury yachts she’d only felt the slightest prickle of worry, but she’d allowed those to be soothed away by the soft voice of her caretaker as she’d been herded up the ramp and into the belly of the hulking beast.

The dream shifts again and now Jessa -the ghostly watcher- finds herself inside her old body, no longer watching second hand, but now from her own head. She doesn’t feel the scars that weighed her down. She doesn’t feel the ache that had begun in her lower back after nearly a year of tending to mining instruments daily. She feels fresh and new and young. So young. So naive.

Everything is dark. Red emergency lights cast the insides of the ship in a ghastly red glow that does little to illuminate the surroundings bring to life survival instincts she never knew she had.

It stinks of oil and sweat. Her stomach flips violently as she makes the mistake of taking a big breath and the smell of stale urine catches in her nose. It’s the dirtiest place young Jessa has ever been and she tries to keep her arms tucked in close to avoid getting any residual filth on her clothes.

Ma’duo’s calming presence behind her does little to quell the surge of raw fear that begins creeping up her spine as the ramp shudders and begins to close. The mechanism is rough and the floor below her feet trembles with the exertion of it. 

“So this is the one?” The question erupts from the dark before the speaker’s body. His words come out high and hissed.

Ma’duo uses a firm hand and presses her forward. Jessa’s toe catches on the grating and she stumbles inelegantly forward. The man chuckles. So does Ma’duo. 

It’s a cold sound to match the surroundings, catching jessa so off guard that she whips around, thinking an imposter had taken her beloved nanny’s place. Ma’duo is there behind her, short and round, with oddly bird-like features. It is her and it’s not. The look on her face is foreign as she looks past Jessa. There is no warmth in her dark eyes.

“I was indentured to her parents as punishment. She’s taken the best part of my life,” the woman says without prompt, “It’s time to repay the favor.”

“As we agreed,” the serpentine voice says evenly. He doesn’t acknowledge the woman’s words, merely places a handful of credits into Ma’duo’s out outstretched hand. The woman doesn’t so much as look at her former charge, busy counting her dirty earnings.

Jessa opens her mouth to speak, but her arms are wrenched back and something hard and cold snaps around her wrists. 

“Maddie?” Jessa’s voice comes out shrill and scared. This couldn’t be part of the plan. They were going to meet her parents. That’s what she’d been told. They were going somewhere safe. 

The woman doesn’t answer her. Jessa struggles and her captor tugs her wrists up hard. Breathtakingly sharp pain blossoms between her shoulders. Her knees buckle and she’s hoisted unceremoniously back to her feet.

“Put her with the others,” the hiss says and another set of hands grab her around the waist. Her senses are overwhelmed, adrenaline turning them into live wires. They arc and spark, giving her too much input. Hands grab and squeeze as they drag her away, touching her in places that make her feel sick. She struggles, but she is wholly incapable of doing anything more than cause a minor inconvenience to her captor. She screams, her voice reaching out.

“Maddie please… please, I don’t know... Don’t leave me. Please-“ A filthy hand covers her mouth and she bites as hard as she can surging forward and struggling again, she jumps and pulls at the arm around her, desperate. This is a mistake. Ma’duo is supposed to take care of her, she's supposed to love her.

A bag, filthy oil cloth, is shoved over her head. She panics and she can’t breathe.

“Maddie! Maddie. I’m sorry for whatever I did. Please don’t leave me! Please!”

Something hard cracks against her temple and -in a tangle of sheets and blankets - Jessa wakes with a start. She yanks her pillow out from under her head and presses it down hard over her face to dampen the sobs that escape her.

———————

Walon watches the flames dance around the hearth. They’re beautiful but they do little to ease the tension that has seeped into his bones. One name and Skirata had thrown his entire night into the trash compactor. Fenn Shysa. 

The Mandalor was requesting an audience with Kyrimorut’s heads of clan and he wanted it soon. Time sensitive. That was what Skirata had said, his beady little eyes gleaming. Vau knew there would be another fight. He knew it like he knew the winter snows were coming and the spring blossoms after that. They’d be putting themselves or their _ad_ in the path of danger again but now it wouldn’t be for their own interests. it would be at the Mandalor’s behest and he would have no choice but heed to whatever call Shysa chose to make because Vau was a good Mandalorian, an honorable Mandalorian. The thought feels sour in his head. Were any of the _Cuy’val Dar_ good Mandalorians?

Fekking Skirata. He could have at least allowed him a good night’s sleep before he sprang the information on him. Sev and Scorch were leaving at first light and he’d much rather be focused on seeing them off than stewing over what was going on in Keldabe.

Jessa’s door creaks as it slides open. Walon watches curiously as she takes a tentative step out, her focus set solely on the door nearest hers while she scrubs the heels of her hands into her eyes. Even in the low firelight Vau can see them, red-rimmed and glistening. She still has a long way to go in her recovery. She still looks particularly fragile dressed in one of the lads under armor as a nightgown. The black fabric falls above her knee and the sleeves cover all but the tips of her fingers. Even with her new clothes, she manages to draw the proverbial line in the sand when it came to giving up this one.

It takes a moment for her to realize she’s not alone. Her eyes slide slowly to his spot by the fire. She freezes in place like a swamp rabbit caught in a predator's sight. He raises a brow in a silent question as she seems to contemplate her next move.

The wood in the fire is still green, only a half dozen months since it was felled by Jaing Skirata during one of his infrequent visits home. It crackles and smokes far more than well-seasoned logs would, but it puts off a nice warm glow Walon can sit by and enjoy while sleep continues to elude him.

Mird lays at his feet. The strill’s deep even breathing indicated it - unlike its master - was having no difficulty in catching its slumber. 

It had been a quiet evening after the clan had excused themselves from the Skirata’s and retired to their own dwelling within the greater _yaim_. Jessa had been distant since his _adiike_ had let slip at supper they were leaving in the morning. The original plan had them leaving days later, but recce - as always - had proved important and timing would be of the essence for two of the three bounties they’d picked up. 

His _dikut’la_ sons had failed to prepare her in advance and while, to her compliment, she hadn’t thrown a fit like many a young lady would, she’d sunk into herself. The ignorant lads had taken longer than he appreciated to realize their mistake and it was obvious to much of the gathered dining party that something was amiss before they appeared to be the wiser. Particularly Mereel Skirata, who’d used the opportunity to provoke conversation even as stilted as it was. 

Much to his chagrin and the delight of Kal, Jessa ignored his miscreants the rest of the meal and only seemed to follow them back after dinner out of a sense of routine then anything. Skirata was becoming wholly too sure of his son's ability. Walon could see the smug little merc already planning a post _riduurok_ celebration.

It was a failing on his part that his sons had not been prepared to the full extent of Mandalorian customs and he was already conspiring to correct his errors. 

“Nightmare?” He asks the qu

estion as a formality. The strain of whatever demons haunted her sleep were evident on her face. Jessa nods silently. 

“I hope you don’t feel the need to discuss it.” Even with the swirl of darkness lingering behind her tired eyes, a wry smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. His words, meant both in jest and as a subtle warning seem to have hit their mark. 

Mird, the dear creature it is, rises from its spot by the fire to curl around her bare legs twice before nudging her toward a chair. The creature had more nurturing in its thin tail than Walon was sure he’d ever possess, misunderstood as it was.

“Sit and have a nip with us?” He lifts the small glass of _ti’haar_ in demonstration. “It fortifies the spirits.”

She seems to think on it for a moment. It’s obvious her intention hadn’t been to keep his company and the way her eyes dart to the opposite bedroom door is more telling then any words she could speak. Mird makes a plaintive gurgle at her side and she relents after a second thought, allowing the strill to herd her to a chair. She’s small, delicate in a way that he hadn’t seen since before the fall of the republic. He’d do better this time. He wouldn’t watch as Jessa’s insecurities and fears were weaponised and used against her. He wouldn’t allow her to be manipulated. Walon Vau was a cold man, something he understood with crystal clarity but contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t unfeeling. He had regrets by the freighter load, but Jessa would not be one of them. He’d sworn to the ghost of _her_ that history would not repeat.

A spare glass covers the lid to the bottle and he retrieves it, filling two fingers worth of the sweet liquor. She takes it. A small careful sip and she’s fighting back the cringe threatening. It is almost laughable. _Ti’haar_ was sweet but strong, Mandalorian to its roots. He has enough good manners left not to say anything. 

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

The thing he’d noticed with growing frequency is that the girl rarely called him the same thing twice in a row. Sir, Sargeant, Vau, Walon - once, and with great discomfort - were all names she interspersed as if trying each one out to find a good fit. It made sense that a woman of her upbringing would take great care in addressing another by the appropriate name, with the right context. Here on Mandalore she had none of that. There was no observable social hierarchy, no military rank, no titles passed down from royalty or church. It left her in a certain no man’s land of decorum, fearing a too familiar or too ostentatious way of addressing him and he hadn’t helped her at all.

“Are you one of my troopers now?” 

She smiles shyly at the question but says nothing before taking another sip, this time without any signs of discomfort. The tip of her tongue darts out and licks residual liquor from her lips.

Without even knowing it she’s begun endearing herself to him. She’s an amalgam of women he’s known; a naive princess, an loyal Mandalorian, a lost Jedi Knight. Somehow though, where he once saw pieces and parts of all three, the edges of each had blurred and disappeared until he only saw Jessa. She’d weaseled her way into a crack she’d found in his fractured, black heart and he found he had little desire to dislodge her from it.

“You were quiet tonight,” he notes. A log in the fire pops loudly and she startles, her hand flying to her chest for a moment before the sheepish look crosses her face again. 

“I suppose I was.”

“They don’t mean to be idiots.” Walon could laugh at the way her eyes widened. There was no use beating around the bush. It was best to take off the festering limb before it turned the whole body to rot. Slipping a bacta patch over it was going to do nothing. “I suppose I should allow some of the blame to be placed on my shoulders.”

She doesn’t fight his insinuation. 

“When they were young, not my sons but my cadets, I had no false hope that they’d live as long as they have.” Mird slinks around and presses its head up into his hand draped over the arm of the chair. “There was no precedent for what we did. There was no guidance. There was no time. We were tasked with creating exemplary soldiers however we best saw fit. I did what I had to do to ensure they'd survive what the Republic required of them.”

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me.” She means it. He can see it in her eyes. Maybe a year ago he’d have had to, but she’s seen too much now to see the world in anything but shades of grey.

“I may not, but I need to justify them for myself sometimes.” He's never admitted that aloud to another soul. Jessa holds her empty glass and he refills it before he does the same to his own.

“It’s good… the _ti’haar,_ ” she says, offering him a change in subject. Walon nods and they sip together quietly, staring at the fire as it danced merrily about the logs in the hearth.

“Don’t try to wake Sev.”

“Hmm?” He catches her mid-sip and she rushes to lower her glass. “I wasn’t-“

“You were.” He waves off whatever she is about to say. “Scorch is the lighter sleeper. He comes around easier. Sev- Sev doesn’t wake well.”

“Noted.” 

He’s glad she’s not going to argue her intentions. He really did have no clue who she’d thought to seek out, but while waking a person who’d seen what his _adiike_ had seen was always a risk, he trusted Scorch to be the less dangerous of the two options. While he had no doubt the lad kept a blaster nearby, he knew Sev slept with a blade under his pillow and his hand, even in sleep, always resting near it.

\---------

Scorch remembers when he first learned about women, really _learned_ about women.

He was a cadet, maybe eight, old enough to play with the big boy explosives but young enough to still require supervision, and something had been bothering him. For two solid days he let the questions build and in the meantime he got sloppy. He slowed his squad down. His focus was off. His accuracy was subpar. His Sergeant noticed.

_“Delta-1262 care to share with us why your squad will be getting half rations today?” The tone of the Cuy’val Dar Sargent is pleasant but Scorch knows he’s in for it the second he hears the almost sweet question being asked._

_“Sir, no Sir. I am unsure of the reasoning Sir.” At His side Fixer twitches and Scorch begins to realize the trouble he’d unwittingly courted. There’s a certain amount of dark glee that worked its way into Walon Vau’s voice when he was about to dole out punishment. It’s unmistakable and it’s there when he speaks again._

_“Well then Six-Two, maybe you care to explain your pitiful, no- your laughable output in the last day?”_

_The hairline fracture to his ribs had only been healed for a week and the thought of having to face down one of his vod again for an infraction made his stomach twist uncomfortably. It was best to try and keep that knowledge away from Vau but he hadn’t mastered the art of it the way Boss had. Scorch decided honesty was the best course of action as he had yet to learn the art of subterfuge._

_“Breasts, sir”_

_In the line up Boss makes a choking sound. Sev chuckles, a dark gravelly “huh huh” that lets Scorch know at least one of his vod wasn’t going to kill him. Fixer is typically silent._

As a grown man, war hardened and looking back, Scorch doubts he will ever see again a look so suddenly comical, the way his **Buir’s** whole body had stuttered, his straight posture and rigid stance sagging for the spark of a second. It had been as if the Sergeant had gone into a hard reboot. Words did not compute. 

_“Breasts….” the word is spoken quietly._

_“Or tits sir, if that’s more appropriate.”_

_“Of all the…” Scorch listened and watched the tilt of Vau’s buyce toward the sky. It only lasts a minute._

_“We are having this conversation once.” The merc snapped. Mirdalan stalked around its master's feet worriedly, occasionally glaring at the gathered scrum of teenage commandos accusingly “What do you need to know?” The question was growled out with the same distaste he heard when he’d happened to stumble upon a cadre of trainers speaking about the kaminii._

_Scorch hadn’t been ready. He honestly hadn’t thought he’d get answers. He’d noticed things lately, the shape of the female instructors, the way that it stirred something in him, and it had got him thinking, “are breasts the only difference-“_

_“What are they for?” Surprisingly it’s Fixer speaking up. Vau’s bucket snaps quickly toward the other commando._

_“Women have breasts to nourish their young-“_

_“You mean they eat-“ Sev’s low rattle begins to question._

_“Oh-Seven I don’t believe I gave you permission to speak. Nor you Forty. Push-ups now and let’s make it fun, shall we? Right arms behind your backs.”_

_Scorch watched the pair dutifully fall to the ground._

_“As I was saying. Breasts produce milk for offspring. That is their purpose.”_

_“So younglings come from-“ Boss can’t seem to help the question and falls to the ground for push-ups of his own before Vau can demand it. They can all hear the anger rising up in the sergeants voice. Scorch didn’t know whether to fall in with his brothers or continue to stand. He chooses the later, stiffening his stance to a sharp attention._

_“This is of little concern as you useless meat sacks will likely never live past training to see,” Sergeant Vau growls stalking forward. Scorch watches Mirdalan slink along, pressed tight to its master’s side. He tucks his fingers into the ball of his fist. It wouldn’t be the first time Mird had attempted to nip off a loose hanging digit and he didn’t fancy having to have it stitched back on like the last di’kut the strill had gotten._

_“The lot of you are utterly worthless and any woman that would let you bury your sorry kad into her dalab should be held for medical evaluation of her head. Furthermore, why are you still standing Six-Two? Better than your squad? A squad is only as good as its weakest link? Are you the weak link, the one that will get them all killed? Oh-Seven, I think we’ve gone too easy on Six-Two. Far to much time thinking about getting his useless hands on a set of tits,” he spits the word with disdain, “than focusing on keeping his team alive. Let’s help him remember his place.”_

_Scorch distantly remembers hearing the sound of Fixer’s armor clattering to the ground and then Sev was on him and… harchaak his ribs hurt again. Sev didn’t pull punches but, thank the Republic, he was careful to keep away from previous injuries. If he could._

_The rest becomes a blur that Scorch would rather forget. He remembers that night, after Sarge had sent him to see Mij Gilamar - he had little trust for kaminii doctors when it came to his cadets - and he’d finally fallen into his rack with his ribs bound tight in bacta soaked gauze wraps. Sev had collapsed onto the ground next to his bunk and leaned his back against the hard metal frame. They didn’t say anything for a long while until finally, “I wonder what they feel like, you know, tits.”_

The next day life returned to normal. More training. More punishment. Scorch refocused and didn’t let his mind wander too far away from what Sergeant Vau had to say. Love and hate could straddle a fine line, but Scorch could only let one win. 

He loved his _buir_ , truly he did. If the situation warranted it he would lay down his life for the man without question but he also knew that the way they’d been raised hadn’t been by Mandalorian standards and the things that had been done to them would make any normal Mando parent _dar’buir._

Walon Vau had never prepared his sons to be functioning _Mando’ade_. He had groomed and trained soldiers who could survive the toughest situations, the most punishing experiences. They were nothing if they didn’t survive. It had been his first and foremost priority at all times and looking back, Scorch found a way to appreciate that. The fact that his brother, abandoned and left to fend for himself for a year on a hostile planet, was sleeping a stone's throw away from him was a testament to Vau’s version of training. Skirata could not say as much. A soft heart did not bring you back from the dead.

After his ‘ _Mando and the bees_ ’ talk, Vau never spoke of it again. It wasn’t till they began running field ops and Fixer had began amassing an _astonishing_ collection of adult holovids from the net that they got any solid recce on the situation between men and women. It was far more enlightening than the Sergeant’s talk. Later on, after Darman and Etain had begun knocking boots and Atin and Ordo had both shown interest in women of their own that Vau had come to them again and gave a brief overview of contraceptive and the stern warning that he’d remove their _gett’se_ and feed them to Mird if they so much as thought they had a child in the works.

Scorch hadn’t a chance to explore anything more until the Republic had fallen, having his first roll while Imperial property with the daughter of one of the Imp battalion heads. It had been an experience for sure. The fact that he looked so alike his brothers paired with the girl's inability to remember his name had been the only two things that had saved him from decommissioning after her father had walked in on them. He’d only just managed to escape with his _shebs_ flapping in the breeze.

After he’d arrived on Mandalore, a whole new world of experience had opened for him. He had a girl in Enceri that was more than happy to allow him to warm her bed when he visited. He had a few one night stands in Keldabe. Before Sev came home, he’d have the occasional hook up off-world on a hunt. It was good times. Unlike what he’d been told as a cadet, women seemed to be more than happy - even eager - to let him play sheathe the kad with them. Maker knows he was more than happy to do it. 

Things changed after Sev came home. He needed his brother and his brother needed him. The thrill of the hunt lost its shine. He’d only seen the girl in Enceri a few times in the year Sev had been home and each time it had felt like she was angling for something else, something more that he couldn’t give. It had been a while now since he’d thought about sex, but the last couple days it had been on his mind more and more. 

He can hear the voices in the _karyai_ , his _buir_ and Jessa speaking quietly. Making out the words was nearly impossible, but they're both awake when they should be sleeping. He should be asleep too. 

Departure time was coming sooner as opposed to later and he needed to be alert and ready for the hunt. They had three marks and if they could manage the right timeline, they could intercept two within the same parsec. _Kyr’vhetine Tuur_ was ten days away and if they could manage things, he’d be back home in time to celebrate one of the only times a year he was actively allowed to blow things up at home. It was also going to be Jessa’s first harvest festival and with the Nulls coming home and Rav Bralor bringing her batch he wanted to make sure he was there too… 

“Scorch?” Jessa’s soft voice filters through the door before she slowly pushes it open. The blanket falls away from his bare chest as he sits up. He catches a glimpse of his buir’s watchful gaze as she pushes the door shut behind her, throwing them back into the dark. “Can I- Can I lay with you for a while?”

After the cold shoulder earlier in the evening Scorch is pretty sure the Maker has given him some sort of gift. 

“Yeah, sure.” The blankets are pulled back and Jessa wastes little time moving across the room and sliding in next to him. “Is everything ok?”

She lays flat on her back with her arms stiff at her sides. They’ve never done this and Scorch isn’t sure how to proceed. Sev snores quietly across the room. 

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah? Normally I’d say a beautiful woman crawling into my bed was perfectly fine, but…” He lets his words hang in the air. Jessa stares at the ceiling for a few beats before suddenly rolling to her side to face him, tucking her arm under her head as a makeshift pillow.

“You’re coming back, right?”

“Are we…” His brows knit trying to decipher the question. “Why wouldn’t we come back?”

He can make out the shape of her in the dark, but her finer features are lost to him. 

“Tell me you’ll come back.” There’s steel in the demand tucked underneath the facade of her soft voice. He should come back at her with something funny to lighten the mood because that was his thing, that’s how he dealt, but she was legitimately rattled and that alone was enough to make him take pause.

He couldn’t tell her a lie, no matter how much she demanded it of him. He wanted to though. Fek, he wanted to. 

“We will always do everything in our power to come back. Our family is here. Our home is here.” _You are here_ , his brain whispers to him but he doesn’t say the words and she doesn’t push. She doesn’t do anything in fact, gone so still he wonders if she’s drifted off to sleep in the matter of a sentence. 

He’d had her pressed up against him earlier in the day, laughing and full of _shereshoy_ and now she was so still and quiet. Gently his hand creeps up to cup her face. Soft, warm breath against his skin greets him. She turns her face into his palm, her lips pressing gently against his skin. His pulse jumps like it had the first time he’d ever touched a woman. 

“Do you believe me?” 

He can feel her gentle nod before she’s rolling over and fitting her back against him. Stupidly he holds his arm up, unsure where to touch until she grasps his wrist and pulls it down to her hip. He runs his hand tentatively up and down, dipping low until his fingers brush against the bare skin at her thighs. She sucks in a breath at the contact and he freezes. He feels dizzy, like all the blood has suddenly been shunted away from his head. He doesn’t repeat the action.

“Scorch?”

He has to swallow before speaking, “Go to sleep Jess’ika. No more talking tonight.” Again she’s silent. She’s warm and pliant, molding the curve of her body into his. 

Her breathing slows. He counts each inhale and exhale.

In. Out. 

She makes a soft sound as he wedges his arm under her head in replacement of a pillow. 

In. Out.

Her muscles go completely slack.

In. Out.

Scorch feels his own eyes drifting shut, his body finally ready to surrender to sleep. 

\-------

Sometimes - not often - Scorch woke with a fog of sleep still clouding his mind, with muscles still tense and at the ready, and adrenaline dumping into his system in response to some unknown nocturnal adversary. Falling asleep tangled up in a woman wasn’t a normal occurrence. Waking up still tangled with said woman was even more rare. It takes a minute for his mind to catch up with the situation, to figure out that a fight wasn’t what was making his muscles strain and that the ache in his groin wasn’t from an injury.

He blinks, trying to clear his vision. A simple stretch sends a wave of pleasure spiraling to the tips of his toes as his body meets the warm form of another. A soft groan and an inordinate amount of blood shunts away from his head. 

Jessa’s rolled over in her sleep. Still pressed tight to him, he now has to contend with her tendril like limbs that have thoroughly entangled him. He glances down and sees her face relaxed and peaceful in her slumber. Maker, he wishes he was as relaxed. He needed to extricate himself from the situation before she woke and realized exactly how _not relaxed_ he was.

One delicate hand is pressed to his chest while her opposite arm loops over his waist. She’s so close that when he moves, her lips slip across his bare skin sending a violent jolt straight to his growing problem. He realizes a larger issue. In her sleep she’s thrown her leg over the top of his. When he peeks under the blanket covering them he can see an enticing amount of flesh and thigh. If he concentrates - which he desperately tries not to do - he can feel the heat that radiates from somewhere at the apex of that thigh. 

“Hey…” he murmurs softly, “Wakey wakey.”

She whines softly and buries her face further into his chest.

“So warm…” she coos sleepily, “five more minutes.” Her lids don’t even flutter. So was he supposed to give her five more minutes? The protocol was a little fuzzy.

He follows the best course of action and he waits five minutes. Or he tries.

She squirms against him, stretching and pressing her chest against his. It takes every bit of self control he’d had beaten into him to hold back from rolling her onto her back and… what? What would he do? He wants to touch her desperately to feel if she’d fill his hands, to know if she made noise when he...

May the Manda grant his _vod_ a quick death on the field of battle because Sev’s gruff voice saves him from having to burrow too far down that particular swamp rabbit hole.

“Got a problem?” 

Jessa’s eyes flutter, but she isn’t yet fully awake. The throb between Scorch’s legs is quickly becoming an ache he can’t ignore.

“Lots of problems but only one big one I’m really worried about right now.”

“I’ve seen bigger” 

“Yeah, _Vod_? it’s like looking in a mirror isn’t it? Could you help me out here before I’ve got to explain myself?”

“Scorch…” Jessa whines softly.

“That’s a pretty sound,” Sev notes before ambling to the door.

Looking down at the mess of dark hair and soft skin, Scorch has to agree. The low light of the _yaim_ spills into the room as Sev cracks the door. The scars scattered across his back and torso stand out starkly against the deep tan of his skin. One particularly long jagged one disappears along his hip down into the waistband of his sleep pants. Scorch watches as his brother lets out a sharp whistle.

Horror dawns as Scorch realizes what he’s doing. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Sev?” Jessa’s sweet, confused voice reminds him he’s still in a very precarious situation. Scorch hears the click of claws from outside their door. He doesn’t have a whole lot of time to extricate himself from the situation.

“You've gotta let your buddy there go so we can leave.”

Scorch can feel the moment Jessa realizes the exact predicament she’s in. Her face flushes a deep crimson as she rolls away and pulls the thick comforter up around her chin. Scorch takes the opportunity to slip out from under the blanket and quickly move over top of her. He hovers for just a moment, nearly losing himself in sleepy blue eyes peering up at him. He doesn’t have time though. His feet hit the ground just as three pairs of paws land in his previous spot. He wilts as the first drops of the strill’s saliva hits his pillow. 

Glancing toward the door he catches sight of his vod’s smirk. _Sha’buir._ Those stains were never going to come out. He would get him back for this, but first he needed a cold shower.

“You’ve got a new cuddle buddy. Go back to sleep princess,” he hears the marksman say as he slips into the bathroom and twists the cold knob to full.

He doesn’t even stop to shuck his pants, stepping into the icy spray and sucking in a sharp breath as it does the trick. What a waste of good morning wood.

He makes quick work of a wash; hair, body, unmentionables - avoiding anything that could be misconstrued for blaster maintenance - he’s out of the cold spray before his teeth start chattering. At the very least he’s clean and awake. The dull ache to be wrapped around the woman occupying his bed is still very much there, only now without out the accompanying erection. 

Sev’s thrown clean clothes on the counter and he’s saved from having to do the walk of shame into his own room. When he finally gets his under layers tugged on he makes his way back into his room to begin adding the next layer of protective beskar. Once he hadn’t felt right without katarn and now he was a true Mandalorian. Without his _beskar’gam_ he felt naked and defenseless.

Sev is sitting down pulling on his own. Rolled onto her side with a strill head draped protectively over her hip, Jessa watches them both. Her eyes are not nearly as sleepy as Scorch wishes they were. His vod notices, putting the final touches on his boots.

“Go back to sleep,” he grumbles with no real heat. Jessa shakes her head and Sev sighs, the sound turning tinny as it's amplified through his _buyce_. Then he surprises Scorch.

Sev takes those couple steps and takes a knee next to the bed. His gloved hand slides around the back of Jessa’s head. He ignores the warning growl from Mird and lifts her just enough to bring his forehead down to hers. Scorch watches her eyes close for those few seconds of touch. 

He pulls away, stands and walks out the door without a word. Scorch casts a glance at his retreating form. That was new. Something shifts into place inside him. Fek it.

He moves and kneels down in front of the bed. Mird is still making angry wet sounds, making sure everyone knows it would rather have the girl for itself right now. Like his _vod_ before him, Scorch ignores the strill.

Scorch’s hand cups the side of Jessa’s face. He can feel her, alive and warm through the fabric of his gloves. He doesn’t settle for a Keldabe kiss. His bucket is still clipped into his belt. No, Scorch does the most reckless thing he can think of. He leans in and presses his lips to hers. Jessa startles just for a second, going stiff. Then she’s pressing into the kiss, her lips soft and full against his own dry ones. It’s sweet and chaste and he ends it before he allows his mind to lead to the other things - inconvenient things - causing straining in his cod. Before he can pull away, she reaches up and tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling his head back in, pressing her forehead to his. He breathes in the scent of her, floral shampoo and slightly sour morning breath. He commits it to memory before he pulls away.

Her breathing is rough and, by the Manda, he knows he will always come back to her.

“No worries, _Mesh’la_. Ok? If you are here we will always come back,” he promises quietly. Reckless. 

Jessa nods her head, but it is still another few seconds before she lets him go.

“I’ll be here.” She seals the pact and Scorch can see her eyes shining before she roughly turns away from him. Mird growls again and glances toward the door. Sev is leaning in the frame, his body relaxed, his _buyce_ focused on Scorch.

“Ready to get this done with?”

\--------

Di’kutla-idiotic

Di’kut-idiot

kaminii- residents of kamino

vod-brother/sister

Kad-sword

Dalab-sheath

Buir- mother/father 

Dar’buir- no longer a parent, divorced from child.

Gett’se- testicles

Shebs-butt

Kyr’vhetine Tuur- harvest day (one of four Mando holidays [@crimson-dxwn](https://crimson-dxwn.tumblr.com/) and I created)

Buyce- helmet

Mesh'la- beautiful


End file.
